


Rise and Fall

by alassenya



Series: Charlie and Rory [2]
Category: Lost, Urban Ghost Story (1998)
Genre: Alcohol, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Glasgow toughs, M/M, Manchester, Monaboyd, Musicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 17:43:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 75,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alassenya/pseuds/alassenya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DriveShaft is an instant success, but success takes its toll on Charlie and his relationship with Rory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Perception

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Originally posted at LiveJournal from May to November 2008 (as Parts 1-5 of Trials, Temptation and Triumph).  
> 2\. Thanks go to HisNiblets for insightful comments and some role-playing assistance in the later parts of the story, and to Sassywitch, Glasgowhobbit and Billyhasmyheart for their input and encouragement.

**1.1 48 hours of coital bliss**

_Saturday 25 September 1999_

Charlie woke at dawn, and opened his eyes to see the ceiling of Rory's bedroom. He smiled as he realised where he was, who he was with and what they'd been doing ... especially what they'd been doing. 

The room was still and, though the air was cool on his face, he felt warm and relaxed. There was heat on his right, and he turned towards it, gazing fondly at the body that was curled up, face scrunched into the pillow. Rory was frowning in his sleep, and Charlie reached over to smooth the wrinkled forehead with his fingers. He was rewarded by a sigh and a softening of features, and then, when he ventured to press a kiss to the tip of Rory's nose, by a twitching and snuffling. 

He smiled to himself. Rory McManus could be very cute. He'd never dare to say that out loud, though ... at least, not in public. In Rory's world, appearance was everything. In Rory's world, being gay was a weakness, and if Charlie wanted to stay with Rory he'd have to make very sure that he didn't make life too difficult for him. 

He wondered how on earth Rory was going to explain him to his colleagues and family; or even if he'd try to explain Charlie. Perhaps he'd be passed off as just a friend, or someone connected with work. Both were true, in a sense, but neither came close to the reality ... well, the reality that Charlie hoped for. He wanted to be with Rory night and day, preferably alone, and preferably horizontal, exploring every inch of skin, mapping every response, learning how to make Rory sigh and squirm and shout. 

But that would have to wait until Rory was awake. For now, he settled more comfortably against Rory's shoulder and went back to sleep. 

~~~~~ 

When next he woke, he found Rory looking at him - not exactly smiling, but not exactly frowning either. It was almost a puzzled look, as if Rory himself wasn't quite sure how he should be feeling. 

"What are you looking at?" asked Charlie 

"You. You being here." 

"Did you really think I'd turn you down? Or run away during the night?" 

Rory shrugged. "Wouldn't have blamed you." 

Charlie laughed. "What? Turn down the best shag I've had in a year?" 

It was the right tone to take. Rory relaxed a little, and even looked interested. "Best shag in a year?" he repeated. "So who did you shag a year ago who was better?" 

Charlie sighed. "I had a boyfriend. Richard. He moved to Hong Kong." 

"Oh. You still miss him." 

"Yeah, but ... well, not so much since I met you." He shook his head. He wasn't going to talk about Richard now - it would only make things awkward between them, and he wanted to concentrate on the future, not the past. Instead, he leaned over and kissed Rory. "You remember that morning – the long weekend – when we wanked each other?" 

"Mmm." 

"Can we do it again? Only this time I want to kiss you as well." 

Rory didn't answer but his hand slipped between them and around Charlie's cock, and he leaned forward for a kiss, so Charlie took that as agreement. 

It was hot, and slick, and messy, their kisses sliding over each other's mouth as their hands grasped and pulled and teased, until they were panting too much to kiss at all and simply bumped their foreheads together, each of them watching as they brought each other to completion. 

They lay in warmth and silence for a few minutes, until the stickiness between them became uncomfortable. Rory pulled himself up to a sitting position and stretched. "I'm getting up," he announced. "Can't spend all day in bed." 

"Why not?" mumbled Charlie, his eyes still closed. "No need to go anywhere." 

"I've things to do." 

"Go tomorrow." 

"You're really not a morning person, are you?" 

"Nope." Charlie finally dragged his head up from the pillow and looked blearily at Rory. "I need coffee." 

"You know where the kettle is." 

"You make it for me." 

"You weren't this lazy before," teased Rory. 

That was a mistake. Charlie directed a look of pure hatred at Rory, snarling, "It was different before!" 

Rory was startled and actually moved back a couple of inches. Then he rallied, and his face closed up as he regarded Charlie with suspicion. 

Charlie sighed and dropped his head back onto the pillow. Trust him to stuff things up the minute they were going well. "Sorry," he mumbled, running a hand thorough his hair. 

"It's OK," said Rory, softly. "We both have a bit of adjusting to do." Then he got up and went downstairs, leaving Charlie to curse his temper and drag himself out of bed to apologise. 

He padded down the stairs, pausing only to wipe his stomach clean and pull on his jeans, and went into the kitchen. Rory was by the sink, looking out of the window at the small patch of greenery that served the flats for a garden. The kettle was on, and there was a teapot waiting. 

"Sorry," he said again, coming up behind Rory and putting his arms around his waist. "I'm really not good to know in the mornings." 

"I'm getting that idea." 

Charlie grinned and started to run his hands over Rory's chest. "But once I'm up, I start to think of all the good reasons to go straight back to bed again." 

Rory put his hands over Charlie's, stilling them. "Not today." He turned around and looked Charlie in the eye. "I didn't plan on going to the pub last night, and I've got things to do today. Next weekend will be better. Just us." 

Charlie nodded, disappointed but accepting. His hopes of a long, lazy morning in bed with his new boyfriend would just have to be postponed a week, that was all. 

Rory made tea and coffee, and they ate breakfast quickly. Charlie made sure that he licked all the butter and marmalade from his fingers, slowly and carefully, and saw how Rory was watching him. It didn't garner him another shag, though. Rory obviously had unprecedented self-control. 

He sighed, and asked, "Can I have a shower? I don't really want to go home smelling of sex." 

"You'd better be quick then, I need a shower too, and I have to be out of here by nine." 

"Sure." He hurried through his shower and dressed in his clothes, wrinkling his nose at his underpants and deciding to go commando until he got home. That was another thing - he'd have to ask Rory if he could bring over a couple of things, like spare undies and socks. And a toothbrush. 

Rory slipped into the shower the moment he was out, so he went back down to the kitchen and started tidying up, the way he used to do. He realised what he was doing and stopped in the middle of the room, wondering if he ought to leave things out. Then he told himself not to be stupid and cleared them away. It didn't matter that he had had to do it as a duty before - now he was doing it because it was his choice. 

Rory came downstairs, neatly dressed as he always was, and smelling clean and fresh. Charlie couldn't resist the urge to kiss him up against the wall, but he didn't complain when Rory pulled away. 

"If you want," Rory offered, "you could stay until I get back. But it won't be until after three at least." 

Charlie finished tucking his shirt in and ran his fingers through his hair. "Thanks, but I'd better get back, anyway - Mum and Dad will want to know where I've been." 

"What are you going to tell them?" 

Charlie shrugged. "Just that I stayed at a friend's place. Wouldn't be the first time after a gig." He smiled reassuringly at Rory. "They just like to know I'm OK." 

"When ... umm ... so would you like to go out again, sometime?" 

"Yes," said Charlie immediately, smiling. "You did ask me out on a date tonight, remember?" 

"I remember." 

"Italian, right?" 

"Doesn't have to be, if you want something else." 

"Italian's good. Do you want to pick me up or do you want me to meet you there?" 

"I'll pick you up. It's not far." 

Charlie grinned. "What time?" 

"Ten to seven." 

"I'll be waiting at the end of the street." 

After another deep, probing kiss that went on a lot longer than either of them had anticipated, Rory gave a sudden exclamation and looked at his watch. "Fuck! I have to go." 

They hurried out of the flat, and Charlie waved his lover goodbye as he started to walk to the bus stop. He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he couldn't help it - the day was warm, he had money in his pocket and in only ten hours he'd be with Rory again. Life was looking pretty bloody fantastic. 

~~~~~ 

He was waiting at the end of the street at a quarter to seven, wearing the leather trousers he loved so much and one of the white shirts that Rory had bought him a few weeks ago. 

Rory pulled up in the Camry and Charlie hurried to get in. He knew better than to lean in for a kiss while they were in public, but he was happy to see Rory smiling at him. He smiled back, glad that Rory was in a good mood - it boded well for the night ahead. 

"Were you waiting for long?" asked Rory. 

"Not long." 

"How's the family?" 

"Pretty well. I told Mum I'd gone out drinking with some friends and got a lecture on the dangers of alcohol." He shook his head at the irony. 

"What did she say when you told her you were going out again tonight?" 

"Not a lot, actually - I think I'd exhausted her lecturing powers for one day. She did tell me to be careful, though. And I told her that I might not be back in time for lunch." 

Rory glanced at him, amused. "You think you'll still be at my place at lunchtime tomorrow?" 

Charlie grinned. "Well, I was hoping so. Seeing as how I was robbed of my sleep-in this morning." 

"Hmm." Rory didn't answer him, but Charlie could see that he was still smiling, and he guessed that a long lie-in and some lazy morning sex was a good bet. 

The restaurant was busy and noisy, and though the food was good, they weren't inclined to linger after they'd eaten. Forbidden to touch Rory openly, Charlie had resorted to running his foot up and down Rory's leg, until Rory had given in and asked for the bill. By nine o'clock they were back in Rory's flat, ignoring the tea and coffee on the table in favour of long, deep kisses on the settee. 

Charlie felt as if he was drowning in bliss. Rory's kisses were alternating between gentle and fierce, and Charlie didn't know whether to fight or surrender. He'd managed to pull Rory's shirt up, and his hands were roaming over bare skin, trying to cover every inch of Rory's body. They were rubbing up against each other, clothing half-unbuttoned and pulled every which way, almost frantic with their efforts to consume as much of each other as possible. 

Rory started to undo the buttons on Charlie's shirt, and kissed each inch of skin as it appeared in view. Charlie squirmed as Rory's tongue flicked against his nipples, and almost yelled when Rory took each one into his mouth and sucked hard. 

"Fuck!" he cried, arching up and pushing his aching erection against Rory's thigh. "Fuck me!" 

"When I'm ready," teased Rory. His hands were roaming over Charlie's skin, burning hot, and Charlie thought he was going to go mad. 

"Fuck me now!" 

Rory groaned, but pulled himself upright and managed to get to his feet. "Come on, then," he said, holding his hand out to Charlie. 

"Can't we do it here?" 

"No lube. No condoms." 

Charlie groaned, and actually thought about taking Rory bareback and dry for a moment, but luckily, common sense prevailed. "Tomorrow I'm going to bring down some supplies and make sure they're in every room." 

Rory laughed at him, but pulled him up and dragged him over to the stairs. "Good idea," he muttered, before pushing Charlie against the wall and kissing him deeply. "But for tonight we have to go upstairs." 

Charlie grumbled, but allowed himself to be dragged up the stairs to Rory's bedroom, which took quite a while as they kissed and groped each other the entire length of the stairs. Once horizontal, though, with Rory's weight on top of him and Rory's hands roaming over his skin, Charlie's enthusiasm returned and he found himself moaning and gasping into Rory's kisses and arching up with his hips to increase the friction on his aching cock. 

His fingers were scrabbling at Rory's belt, trying to undo the buckle and get at the zip. Rory's hand closed over his own and stilled them, then he rolled over onto his back, allowing Charlie the access he needed. It only took a few seconds, and then Charlie was sliding down the bed, eager to get his mouth around Rory's cock. He almost moaned as it slid into his mouth, redolent with the smell and taste of pre-come. He gave it a few long, slow strokes with tongue and hand, inching it deeper into his throat. He was just establishing a steady rhythm when Rory pulled him up, panting and shaking his head. 

"Didn't you like that?" he teased. 

"Too much," admitted Rory. "But you wanted me to fuck you. Can't do that if you suck me off." 

"I do." He reached over to the bedside table and took out the lubricant and some condoms. "I want you to fuck me deep and hard." 

Rory grinned. "That's what I was planning." 

"Good." Charlie lay down, then, on impulse, rolled over onto his stomach and pulled a pillow down to put under his hips. "Like this," he prompted. 

Rory simply nodded, but the gleam in his eye was reward enough for Charlie. That he should willingly choose the position he'd been forced to adopt for most of August was obviously a surprise to Rory, but a welcome one, and Charlie was simply happy that Rory was happy. 

Well, he was even happier when Rory was pushing inside him, filling him and brushing past his prostate in just the best way. He groaned, and heard Rory chuckle behind him. 

"I think you like this." 

"Mmm, I do. Don't stop." 

"I won't." 

In a few moments more, all Charlie's complaints were forgotten and he was caught up in the moment-to-moment sensation of being well and truly fucked. He loved the way that Rory seemed to know instinctively what he wanted, and gave it to him generously. He loved the way that Rory's hands roamed over his hips and back, as if to reassure him that Rory wanted all of him, not just his arse. His own hands were scrunched into the sheets, gripping the cotton tightly in an effort to stay still. He wanted to push back, to force Rory even deeper, but when he tried, Rory grabbed his hips and held him still, and than was somehow even better, with Rory thrusting in and out, bringing him closer and closer to climax with every stroke. 

He lifted his hips, wriggled one hand down and took a hold of his cock, trying to pump it in time with Rory's thrusts. He was grunting now, and Rory was panting, and in another moment Charlie was spilling all over the pillow. He gave himself a few more strokes as Rory came with a hoarse cry, and then Rory was collapsing over him. 

They both lay still for a moment, then Rory pulled out - and how Charlie always hated that moment - got rid of the condom and lay down beside him, reaching out with one arm. Charlie immediately pulled the pillow out from under his hips and snuggled up close, putting his head on Rory's shoulder. He liked being able to do that, being close and feeling warm and loved - not that Rory had actually said he loved him, of course, but it was nice to dream. His arm went over Rory's chest and his fingers traced the contours of neck and shoulder. 

He wondered if he should say something, but he was drowsy and contented, and it was good just to lie here in silence and let his fingers say what he wanted to say. He wondered if Rory had fallen asleep, but when he glanced up he saw that Rory's eyes were open and he was staring at the ceiling. 

"Penny for your thoughts," he said. 

Rory turned his head to look at Charlie. "Not even worth that," he sighed. "Just thinking about ... well, about things in general." 

"You mean about me?" 

"Mmm, sort of." 

"If you want me to go, you only have to say so." 

"No." Rory's voice was firm, and his arm tightened around Charlie, re-inforcing the denial. "It's just going to be ... difficult. That's all." 

"Your father?" 

"Aye." 

"Does he have to know?" 

"He knows." The terse words implied that McManus senior was still not happy with his son, and Charlie hoped that he wasn’t going to vent his anger on Rory the same way he had in August. 

"I'm sorry." 

Rory yawned. "Dinnae worry. It was gonnae happen sooner or later." 

Charlie lifted himself up until he could look down at Rory. "If he's going to beat you up again -" 

"He won't." 

"You sure?" 

Rory smiled. "I'm sure. Now settle yourself down. Go to sleep." 

"Not sleepy." He trailed a finger down Rory's stomach as an indication of what he'd rather be doing. 

"No?" 

"Not in the least." 

"Are you telling me you're up for it again?" 

"I am if you are." That finger was doing laps around Rory's navel, and then headed south, where it slid between Rory's legs and started exploring with a feather-light touch that made Rory wriggle. "You're ticklish." 

"No, I'm not. I'm just sensitive there." 

"Is that right?" Charlie laughed softly, but allowed his hand to retreat back up to Rory's stomach. He wasn't really ready to go again just yet - though it wouldn't be long - and he was enjoying the intimacy of the afterglow. He loved simply being with Rory, touching him, smelling him, looking at him, listening to him breathe ... Rory filled his senses and made him complete. 

He smiled to himself. He had a feeling that this was going to turn out very well indeed. 

  
**1.2 Birthday Boy**

_Saturday 20th November 1999_

Charlie looked across to Rory, who was sound asleep, curled up on his side and snoring softly. Charlie reached out and brushed a finger over his nose – Rory wrinkled it but settled quickly back into sleep. Charlie smiled to himself, then rolled onto his side, facing Rory, and just looked at him. He knew that he had a goofy, adoring smile on his face, but he couldn't help it. He was simply happy every time he saw his boyfriend, no matter how brief the separation. 

Boyfriend ... now there was a word he never thought he'd be applying to Rory McManus. Funny how things turned out. In the two months since they'd first kissed, they'd spent most of each weekend together, gigs and work permitting, and there was no sign yet that Rory was getting tired of him. Charlie was beginning to believe that this was going to last, and that pleased him mightily. 

He sighed. If being with Rory was going to be a long-term prospect, it meant that he had to work out a way of coming out to his family so that he could be with Rory openly. He'd almost done it with Richard, his boyfriend at uni, but somehow he'd always managed to skate over the dicey bits and convey the impression that he was just dossing on the sofa, or sitting up all night drinking and talking, when in fact they'd been shagging like bunnies every chance they could get. 

This was going to be different. He didn't want to hide the fact that he had a boyfriend. He wanted to be able to talk about Rory without fear of giving too much away. He wanted to be able to invite Rory over for lunch, as all his brothers and sisters did with their friends. He wanted to be able to say to his Mum and Dad that he was staying over at Rory's place without having to pretend that it was just friendship. 

He wanted to be happy with Rory for a long, long time. 

He sighed again, more loudly, and Rory woke up, blinking sleepily at him. 

"Good morning, love," said Charlie, dropping a kiss onto his cheek. "Would you like a cup of tea?" 

Rory nodded, and Charlie hurried downstairs to make tea and toast. If he was lucky, there'd be some serious shagging before they finally got up, and they'd need their strength. 

~~~~~ 

It was some hours later - when they'd eventually dragged themselves out of bed and had a leisurely second breakfast, cooked by Rory - that Charlie finally remembered what he'd been meaning to ask for over a week. He'd been putting it off, day after day, because he simply didn't know how to put it, not without getting into a very long explanation of Pace family politics. 

"It's my birthday in a fortnight," he said, casually. He was lying on the couch, his head on Rory's lap. They were reading the Saturday paper between them - Rory the business section, Charlie the sports. But Charlie had let his part drop to the carpet, and was staring out over the scattered remains of their prolonged breakfast. 

"Oh, aye," said Rory noncommittally. 

"My twenty-first," added Charlie. 

That got more of Rory's attention, and Charlie wriggled around so he could look up at his lover. Rory started to run his fingers through Charlie's hair, something he loved almost as much as sex. 

"That’s nice," he purred, closing his eyes. "Don't stop." 

"Such a hedonist," chided Rory, but Charlie could hear the smile in his voice, and feel his fingers still caressing his head, and he continued to give a little hum of approval with every exhalation. "What do you want for a present?" 

"Wasn't asking for a present." 

"So why did you mention it?" 

Charlie opened his eyes. "Well... my parents said they'd give me a party for it - nothing fancy, just a few drinks and stuff at home, on the Friday. They asked me if I wanted to invite some of my friends. I ... I wondered if you'd come along, too." 

"You want me to go to a party at your parents' place? Meet your family?" 

"Well, yeah. Only if you want to, though. I just thought it would be nice to have you there with me, seeing as we're boyfriends, sort of." He trained off, miserably aware that it all sounded pretty lame. He looked away, towards the far wall. 

"Do your parents know? About me, I mean?" 

"No. Haven't told them anything." 

"Do they know you're gay?" 

"No." He tried to make a joke about it. "So you wouldn't have to touch me or anything. I wouldn't expect you to act all lovey-dovey. It's just that I'd like you to be there." 

"I won't know anyone." 

"You've met the band. Pat'll be there. Don't know about Sinjin, though." 

"Liam?" 

"Yeah, Liam'll be there. Mum insisted." He looked up at Rory. "Would that be a problem?" 

"Not as long as he keeps his distance - and keeps his mouth shut." 

"I'm the mouthy one, remember?" 

"So you are." 

Charlie pulled himself up into a sitting position beside Rory. "So, are you coming?" 

"Not yet, lad. We've barely started." 

Charlie giggled, and shifted himself until he was straddling Rory's thighs. He smiled and kissed the sweet lips, noting the faint taste of marmalade and tea, and something that was indefinably Rory. He tilted his hips, bringing their groins closer together, and they both gasped at the sensation. Sex was still a journey of discovery for both of them, and he thought it was high time they did a little more exploration. 

Rory ran his hands over Charlie's back, down to his buttocks, pulling him in closer and groaning. "Mmm, that's good," he muttered. 

Charlie dropped a few more kisses onto Rory's face and neck, then sat back on his haunches. He knew he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn't help it. He was madly, deeply in love and he wanted Rory to know it. "Please come to my birthday party," he asked again. 

"You really want me there?" 

"Yes. Won't feel like a proper celebration if you're not there." Another kiss. "Besides, I need you to protect me from Liam. The cunt's bound to start teasing me about you otherwise. He'll be as good as gold if you're actually there." 

"So I'm going as your bodyguard, then?" 

Was it Charlie's imagination, or did Rory seem relieved at the prospect of a less-intimate role? "If you want," he said, cautiously. "I wasn't planning to come out at the party. I just wanted you to be there with me." 

Rory sighed. "I'll go to your party, Charlie. Just as a friend, mind. No funny business." 

"Don't worry, I'll keep my hands to myself." He sounded like a sulky child, and he hated himself for it. "Sorry," he added. "I keep pushing." 

"You do. But I think I'll keep you anyway." Rory ran his hands over Charlie's thighs and then under the woollen jumper that Charlie had stolen from his chest of drawers that morning. "If I remember correctly, you promised me a blow-job if I made breakfast." 

"So I did." 

"You going to keep that promise?" 

"Sure," he muttered, trying to smile. He wasn't really surprised. Every time he tried to clarify their relationship - even tried to establish that they had a relationship, not just some casual fuck-buddy thing - Rory deliberately tried to force him back into rent-boy mode. 

"Charlie," Rory touched his face. "Don't sulk. It wasn't an order." 

"Sounded like one." 

Rory's face grew hard, and his hand gripped Charlie's chin almost painfully. "If I ever give you an order, Charlie Pace, you'll know it, and you'd better fucking do it." 

The shift from Rory to Shark was unmistakable, and Charlie realised how much he'd miscalculated; how quickly he'd forgotten just how nasty the Shark could be. 

"Sorry." He started to get up, but Rory held him fast. His face softened slightly, and suddenly he was all Rory again, every trace of the Shark gone. 

"Charlie." 

"What?" 

"Look at me. Now, if you had a boyfriend who gave absolutely brilliant blow jobs, and he offered one, would you let the opportunity pass by?" 

"Probably not," Charlie admitted, reluctantly. "Not if he was truly fucking brilliant." 

"Oh, he is. Best I've ever known. He's just a wee bit forgetful at times." 

Charlie smiled - just a little. "Well, then, I think it might be OK to remind him." 

"So, then," Rory leaned forward and kissed him, "consider this a reminder, brilliant boyfriend." 

Charlie returned the kiss, then wriggled down from Rory's lap and set to work. 

  
_Wednesday 08 December - Charlie's 21st birthday_

It was a relatively quiet family dinner: a roast chicken, followed by a chocolate cake with Charlie's name on it, and even a bottle of champagne. After the meal was finished, Bridget and Kevin went to their rooms (Biddy to do her homework and Kevin to read comics) and Charlie was left with his mother while his father dozed in front of the TV. 

"Thanks, mum," he said, helping to put away the last of the plates. "That was a smashing dinner." 

"I'm glad you liked it, pet. And you did help." 

"I just peeled the potatoes." 

"And the carrots." 

He smiled. "And the carrots." He completely understood his mother's satisfaction at having cooked a special meal for her loved ones. His smile broadened as he thought about the meal he was going to cook for Rory the next day - nothing fancy, nothing that required hours of preparation, just a simple meal prepared with love. That was always the best way. 

"Now," she continued, "I know you said you'd be out tomorrow, but I'll need you to help set up on Friday. Don't forget, will you?" 

"Forget my own birthday party? Not likely!" 

"Charlie ..." 

"It's all right, Mum. I'll make sure I'm here from lunchtime onwards. That OK?" 

"Fine, dear." 

He smiled brightly at her and closed the cupboards before heading up to his room. Tomorrow he was going to be with Rory, and he just couldn't wait. He'd already planned what he was going to cook - he'd have to go to the supermarket on his way to Rory's office, because he was fairly sure that Rory wouldn't have anything he needed. But that was OK - he still had plenty of money from the advance, and he wasn't spending a lot since he was living at home. 

  
_Thursday 09 December 1999_

Charlie arrived at the office just before six. "Hi, Chris," he said as he entered, looking around for Ken and relaxing a little when he found no sign of the redhead. 

"Good afternoon, Charlie." He nodded to the inner door. "He's expecting you." 

"Great." He knocked on the door and put his head around. Seeing Rory's smile, he let himself in and closed the door behind him. 

Rory smiled up at him. "Happy birthday for yesterday," he said softly. 

Charlie grinned and bent over to kiss him. Rory leaned away, saying, "Behave yourself, this is an office." 

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "I remember you fucking me in this very office, up against that window. You weren't concerned about proper behaviour then." 

"That was different," protested Rory. "And it was summer, no one could see in." 

Charlie looked out at the darkness and the light spilling out from the office buildings nearby and had to admit that Rory had a point. "Ah, well, I've other plans for today anyway." He smiled at Rory. "I'm going to cook dinner for you and then we can relax." 

"You don't have to cook, you know. I can order something in." 

"I want to cook. Besides, I've already bought stuff. Knowing the state of your pantry, I thought I'd better stop at the supermarket on the way through." 

Rory smiled and caved in. "All right, lad. So what are you going to cook for me? I warn you, it had better not take too long - I'm famished." 

"Did you skip lunch again?" 

"And what if I did?" His tone was sharp. 

Charlie backed off. "Sorry, didn't mean to pry." 

"Just because we're ... well, we're together, it doesn't mean you get to know everything about me." 

"I know. It's just that if I'd known you were so hungry I'd have brought something with me." He frowned. "Maybe we'd better get a carry-out instead - it would be a bit quicker, especially if we rang before we leave here." 

"No, it'll be all right. I can last a couple of hours." 

"I'll get you something to nibble on while I cook, then." 

The journey to Whitefield was reasonably fast given the hour, and 7 o'clock found them in the kitchen; Rory peeling potatoes while Charlie wrapped sausages in strips of bacon. 

"I can't believe you're making me bangers and mash," he grumbled. "What happened to cordon bleu?" 

"It's a great British meal." 

"Great British meal?" he repeated, incredulously. "There's no such thing." 

"Well, it is. So stop complaining," 

"I suppose it's better than liver and onions. Or tripe." 

"Don't worry, love. I swear to you - hand on my heart - that I will never, ever cook you tripe. And you'll love my bangers and mash, I promise." 

"I'll believe that when I taste it." 

It was a promise that Charlie redeemed half an hour later when Rory lifted the first forkful to his lips. 

"Hmm. Smells good," he said, dubiously, then added "tastes good," as he swallowed, and reached for the next bite with a little more eagerness. 

"Is good for you," added Charlie with a laugh. "So eat up. There's a bit more in the pan if you want it." 

"The sausages are good. How did you get the potatoes so smooth and creamy?" 

"Trade secret." 

The banter continued throughout the meal, until both plates were empty and bellies full. Then Rory made tea (for him) and coffee (for Charlie) and they took their drinks into the living room, leaving the dishes in the sink for later. 

"Is there anything you want to watch on the TV?" asked Rory. 

"Not particularly." He grinned. "I was hoping that you'd put some music on and then we'd start snogging as soon as you've finished your tea." 

"Just for that, I'll make you wait until after the Nine o'clock News." 

"You wouldn't!" 

Rory laughed at the horrified look on Charlie's face. "Don't worry. By the time the News comes on we'll be upstairs in bed, and you'll be shagged out." 

"Thank God for that." He sipped his coffee and looked over the rim of the cup at Rory. The man was devastatingly attractive when he smiled, and when he laughed, openly and honestly, he was breathtaking. Charlie was half-hard already, just from the sound of Rory's voice. It boded well for the evening. 

~~~~~ 

When they got upstairs, Charlie saw a small, gift-wrapped package lying on the pillow on "his" side of the bed. "What's this, then?" he asked, picking it up. 

Rory shrugged. "Just something I thought you'd like." 

Charlie grinned and ripped the paper off, revealing a CD box set of The Beatles - the complete recordings. 

"Fantastic!" he cried and threw his arms around Rory's neck. "I love the Beatles!" 

"I thought you might like it." 

"You are the best boyfriend ever!" 

Rory laughed and kissed him, and honestly, the world couldn't get any better for Charlie. 

But then it did. 

They tumbled onto the bed, still kissing, and Charlie managed to get his hands under Rory's shirt. He ran his hands over smooth, warm skin, before moving down over his arse. He loved Rory's bottom - so beautifully rounded - and could quite happily spend many minutes stroking and fondling the firm, plump buttocks. Rory seemed to enjoy it too, judging from the way his kisses intensified and his hips ground down into Charlie. 

"Fuck me," 

"Not yet," growled Rory, and continued to kiss his way down Charlie's stomach. He quickly undid Charlie's belt and trousers, and slid a hand down to fondle the treasures within. A twist of his hand brought Charlie's cock out, and it went from half to full hardness as he continued to run his hand over the sensitive skin. Then he slid down the bed and gave the shaft a tentative touch of the lips. 

Charlie gasped - he hadn't expected Rory to do this. He'd wanted it ever since he'd first set eyes on him, but Rory had never given any real indication that he was ready for it, and Charlie hadn't wanted to push it. In fact, he'd almost made up his mind that he'd have to ask him to do it - maybe at Christmas - and be prepared for a refusal. But now Rory was nuzzling the dark hairs around his groin and venturing soft licks and kisses against the shaft, working his way up to the head. 

Charlie was panting, trying desperately to maintain some self-control. The sensation of Rory licking - licking - his cock was almost unbearable. Then Rory's mouth closed over the tip and his tongue swirled and Charlie couldn't help it, he was whining, and then Rory started sucking and Charlie threw himself back down onto the bed, hitting his head against the mattress, because it was all too much and he couldn't take it. "Stop! Please!" 

Rory released him and sat up on his heels. "Do you really want me to stop?" 

"No. Just ... too intense." 

Rory started a gentle stroke with his hand, and that was much better - it was teasing, and he wanted more, but at least he could still think. "This good?" 

"Yeah." 

"Tell me when you're ready." 

"I'm always ready." 

Rory grinned and bent down again, this time taking in as much as he could and moving up and down the shaft. 

Charlie could cope with this. Paradoxically, Rory wasn't actually that good at this bit - he had difficulty getting a steady rhythm going, and he hadn't got the trick of keep his teeth out of the way, but Charlie didn't care. He was going down on him and that fact alone was enough to keep him hard and panting. When Rory added a hand around the shaft and concentrated on sucking and licking the head, Charlie changed his mind and decided that this was close to being the best blow job he'd ever had. It took all his effort not to buck up into Rory's mouth, but he didn't want to choke him, and managed to control himself enough to keep his movements small. 

He was beyond speech, and was able to utter only whimpers and moans, which Rory appeared to take as encouragement. A long, broad tongue-stroke up the shaft and around the head almost undid him, and to his embarrassment he found himself whining again as he tried desperately to keep some degree of control. Rory seemed to take that as a challenge, and redoubled his efforts. 

He was almost there, and the last vestige of sense told him he had to warn Rory. "Ah ... close," he managed to say, then it was too late and he was coming hard and fast and strong into Rory's mouth. 

Rory jerked back in surprise, and the rest spilled over his hand, still clutching Charlie's cock. He gave it a few more pumps waiting until Charlie started to relax, then let him go and reached over for the tissues. Charlie wriggled and squirmed as Rory cleaned him up - he'd got to the over-sensitive stage - then relaxed as Rory lay down next to him. 

"Thanks," he whispered. 

Rory smiled and kissed him. "Good?" 

"Mmm." Nice and non-committal, that. Charlie didn't want to insult him, or to put him off, but he was definitely gong to have to teach Rory how to do that properly ... even though he realised that there was a fair chance he'd die of sensory overload if he succeeded. "Normally I'd return the favour, but I can't move. You'll have to fuck me." 

"I can do that." 

"I know you can. I'm counting on it." 

Rory reached over for the condoms and the tube of lubricant, and once more Charlie thought about asking Rory if he'd agree to getting tested so they could stop using condoms. But that would be a big step - a real commitment - and he didn't want to push Rory and risk losing what they had, precarious as it might be. He put the thought to the back of his mind, yet again, and told himself that they'd deal with the issue later on, when they felt a bit more comfortable with each other. 

Rory started preparing him - a much more perfunctory task now that they were together several nights a week - and Charlie let his legs fall open, enjoying the feel of two, then three, fingers inside him. 

"Like this?" asked Rory, as he took his fingers out 

"Hmm. Haven't even got the strength to roll over." 

Rory quickly put a condom on and lifted Charlie's legs over his shoulder. 

Charlie grinned - he liked this position, even though it was more difficult for Rory to hit his prostate. He liked being able to see as well as feel his lover moving in and out of his body. He'd never get tired of looking at him. 

As Rory entered him, he sighed. It really was the most fantastic feeling in the world. Nothing else could compare with it, not even topping someone else, which was something he rarely did, and he didn't even want to think about the possibility that he might fuck Rory one day because that was just too much to cope with. 

"You all right?" asked Rory. 

"Just peachy," he smiled, and relaxed as Rory started to move. 

That was pretty much the last coherent word he spoke, as he surrendered to the waves of sensation that flowed over and through him. 

Later, as they lay together, almost asleep, Charlie whispered, "Hey, Rory?" 

"Mmm?" 

"Best birthday present ever." 

Rory said nothing, but Charlie felt himself hugged more tightly, and a kiss gently pressed into his hair. He smiled into the darkness and closed his eyes. 

~~~~~ 

_Friday 10 December 1999 - 7 am_

Charlie woke at the alarm, and groaned as he rolled over, trying to pull the duvet over his ears. He wished that Rory didn't have to get up so early, robbing him of valuable sleeping time. He heard Rory get up and then dozed off, only to be woken up a few minutes later by Rory stroking his cheek. 

"Wake up, birthday boy. Time to get up." 

"Mmm," he groaned, keeping his eyes tightly shut. 

Rory reached inside the covers and closed his hand over Charlie's cock. That got his attention, and he opened his eyes to smile at his boyfriend. "Don't stop," he whispered. 

Rory didn’t stop, and soon Charlie was panting and arching into his fist and then spilling over his hand. 

He sank back onto the mattress and closed his eyes, only to screech as Rory pulled the duvet back, exposing him to the chill morning air. 

”What did you do that for?" he yelled. 

"Time to get up." Rory went through to the bathroom to wash his hands, and Charlie dragged himself up into a sitting position. 

"Why do you have to get up so early?" he complained. 

"I have to go to work," said Rory, coming back and stretching out a hand. Charlie took it and was pulled to his feet and into Rory's arms. "Got to earn lots of money so I can buy presents for my boyfriend." 

Charlie let himself be thoroughly kissed, and tried to insinuate his hands under Rory's shirt - in spite of the central heating, the room was cool on his bare skin. "Can't I stay here?" 

"Not today - your mother needs you." 

"Oh, yeah." 

"Mmm, birthday boy has his party tonight." 

"Birthday boy would much rather spend the day in bed." 

"Birthday boy doesn't have a choice." 

"You'll be there? Tonight, I mean. Promise?" Charlie knew it was silly to ask again, but he was terrified that Rory would decide not to go, and then the whole evening would be ruined for him. He didn't want to come out, not tonight, but he did want Rory there, so at least he could see him and smile at him, and maybe steal a kiss in a quiet corner. 

"I'll be there, I promise." Rory kissed him, and Charlie had to accept that Rory meant it. He'd be there, and Charlie would be looking out for him, and with any luck, Liam would keep his mouth shut. 

  
_Friday 10 December 1999 - 8:30 pm_

By the time that Rory actually turned up, Charlie was nearly frantic with the effort of greeting the guests as they arrived, introducing them to his parents and making sure their glasses were filled. Nevertheless, he still managed to keep an eye out for Rory's arrival. When he heard the Glasgow voice he nearly ran to the door and told Biddy to see to the previous group of guests. 

"Rory! Great to see you, man," he announced in a casual voice, wondering if he was fooling anyone but himself. He shook Rory's hand but didn't let it go. Christ, he looks fucking edible. Rory was a symphony in black, and Charlie was practically salivating. 

"Charlie," said Rory, a little cautiously. 

He made an effort to control himself. "I was beginning to think you might not come tonight," he whispered, leaning close. "I'm really glad you're here." 

Rory almost blushed - Charlie wasn't quite sure in the dim light, but he saw Rory's eyes drop in the way they did when he was embarrassed. 

"Well, you asked me to be here." 

"You might have changed your mind." 

"N-Not over you," said Rory in a low voice, which went straight to Charlie's groin and made him gasp. 

He wanted to hug him and kiss him and do unspeakably obscene things to him, but he couldn't, not here, not in front of all his family and friends. "Come into the lounge and meet everyone," he said, reluctantly letting Rory go. 

The room was full, but not crowded, and was warm with the fire and the heat from so many people. Charlie dragged him over to the table that was doing duty as a bar and poured him a Scotch and dry. "It's not a malt, unfortunately - Dad usually takes his with soda or dry, and when I asked him if he'd get a malt he said he wasn't going to waste the money on youngsters who couldn't tell the difference anyway. Sorry." 

"Oh, well, drown it in enough dry ginger and it'll be fine." Rory seemed resigned to the sacrifice, and threw half the glass down with no obvious distaste. 

Charlie dragged him over to his parents and made the introductions. "Mum, Dad, this is Rory McManus, a friend of mine." 

Rory greeted them both politely, shaking hands with them and smiling. 

"So, Rory, how do you know Charlie?" asked his mother. 

Charlie had warned Rory that his parents would ask, and they'd discussed a cover story earlier in the week. Rory dutifully gave it to them. "I was in a pub one night and saw the band. Charlie and I got chatting afterwards, and discovered we had a few things in common." He gave them a sweet smile, and Charlie saw his mother responding to it instinctively. 

"Are you a musician, too?" 

Rory laughed. "No, I run a business in town." 

"Oh?" Mike perked up at the word. "What sort of business?" 

"Office cleaning, mainly, with a bit of domestic work." 

Charlie smiled and left them to their conversation as he went to greet the next arrival, a friend from school that Biddy was bringing in. He was stopped by a hand on his arm and looked around. 

"What's _he_ doing here?" hissed Liam, nodding in Rory's direction. 

Charlie shrugged off Liam's hand. "I invited him." 

"Why, for fuck's sake?" 

"Because I wanted to. It's _my_ party, I can invite whoever I like." 

"You like him?" 

"Yeah, I do. Now shove off and annoy someone else." 

"Are you two ... you know?" 

"Are we what?" 

"You know," Liam made an obscene gesture, "fucking?" 

"What if we are?" 

"That's ..." his voice trailed off, but his expression spoke volumes. 

"Disgusting? Perverted? Gay?" Charlie glared. "Yeah, all of the above. And I seem to remember a time not so long ago when you were really keen on us fucking, so it's a bit bloody hypocritical of you to object to it now." 

"I'm not objecting.' 

"Well, it fucking sounds like it." 

"I just don't see why you'd want to ask him here, that's all." 

"Well, it's none of your fucking business, so shove off." 

"What are you arguing about this time, boys?" asked Meg, wearily. 

"Nothing," replied Charlie, glaring at Liam. 

"Well, then if it's nothing, I suggest that you both start behaving. I told you before that I won't tolerate any fighting tonight. Do you understand me?" 

"Yes, Mum," they chorused, and headed off in different directions. 

Charlie greeted his school friend, and then another, and could only look at Rory from time to time to see how he was faring. He was talking to Patrick now, and they seemed to be getting on well. He smiled gratefully at Biddy, who was handing around trays of food, and took a selection in each hand. He was starving, and he could hardly sneak out into the kitchen for a sandwich when it was his own party. Though if he could inveigle Rory to come with him they might find a quiet corner to snog in. He imagined kissing Rory in the laundry, in the pantry, in the cupboard under the stairs, in his own bedroom ... 

"Charlie. Charlie!" It was his friend Pete, trying to get his attention. 

"Oh, sorry, mate. I was miles away." 

"I'll say. I wanted to know if you'll be going to the football match next week." 

"I doubt it. We've got so many gigs and stuff on at the moment it's not funny." He looked around, trying to see where Rory had got to. Ah, there he was, talking to someone at the drinks table. "Look, thanks so much for coming along, but I'd better circulate and make sure everyone's got drinks." He flashed Pete a smile and headed for the alcohol. 

He'd barely said hello to Rory when his mother caught him by the elbow, "Charlie, dear, your friend Cathy's over there all by herself. Why don't you go and talk to her for a little while?" 

"Sure, Mum," he agreed blithely. "Come on," he said to Rory, "I'll introduce you." 

It was like that for the rest of the evening. Charlie was forced to circulate through the crowd of friends and family, but he always returned to Rory, making sure that Rory had people to talk to, and making sure that Rory and Liam were kept on opposite sides of the room. At least Liam wasn't drunk enough to do something stupid, like accosting Rory in front of everyone. 

It was with real regret that he heard Rory telling him that he ought to go, a couple of hours later. Charlie couldn't blame him - he was older than most of Charlie's friends and didn't have a lot in common with them. Not only that, but he'd obviously picked up on Liam's antagonism, and though the two of them had avoided any direct contact so far, a fight was inevitable if they stayed in the same room for much longer. 

He walked out to the door with him, and though he knew Rory wouldn't kiss him, he did manage to squeeze his hand. 

"Will I see you over the weekend?" he asked, his voice low. 

"Don't you have a gig tomorrow night?" 

"Yeah, but afterwards?" He knew he was pleading, and almost hated himself for it, but he was feeling frustrated after an evening of watching Rory and not being able to touch him, and he really, really wanted to be thrown down onto a bed and fucked until he couldn't walk straight. 

Rory smiled. "Where are you playing?" 

"That Irish pub in Bury." 

"I think I've passed it. What time?" 

"We play from nine thirty to eleven." 

"I'll pick you up at eleven, then." 

Charlie beamed. "I'll be waiting." He'd have to beg Pat to take his guitar again, but that shouldn't be too much of a problem - nothing was too much of a problem if it resulted in a night with Rory. And now he really, really wanted to kiss Rory but he couldn't, and he knew he must look pathetic but he couldn't help it. He took a deep breath and opened the door. 

"I'll say goodnight, then," murmured Rory. 

"Yeah, goodnight." He leaned against the door, and simply looked at Rory, his face deeply shadowed in the dim light, his eyes dark and mysterious. He was beautiful, and Charlie was more and more in love with him every day. 

Then Rory reached out and stroked the back of his hand with a finger, and Charlie nearly melted on the spot. It was a simple touch, but for Rory to do even that much when people might see him was an enormous concession, and Charlie loved him even more. 

"Tomorrow," Rory murmured, and then turned and walked back to his car. 

  
**1.3 - Three dreaded events**

_Saturday 11 December 1999_

Charlie reached into the drawer and pulled out a couple of condoms. There were only three in there, which meant that one of them was going to have to do an emergency run to the chemist in the morning. 

"We need more condoms," he said, as he ripped open the packet and started rolling it onto Rory's cock. 

"We can get some tomorrow. I've got to go to the supermarket anyway. Someone keeps eating all my food." 

"I'm a growing lad." 

"Sideways, maybe." 

Charlie laughed, and then decided to risk the question that had been on his mind for the last three months, the one he'd almost asked on Thursday. "Rory?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Do you think that ... umm ... maybe ... we should get tested? Then we wouldn't have to use these anymore." 

He held his breath as he waited for Rory to respond. He was fairly sure that Rory hadn't slept with anyone else in the three months they'd been together, and he hadn't himself, but even so, it was a lot to ask. What if Rory said no? What if it meant too much of a commitment for him? 

"Are you sure?" 

"Sure?" 

Rory sat up and looked seriously at Charlie. "Are you sure you want to do that? It means ... well, it means something. Commitment. Trust." He shrugged. "Are you sure that you want that with me?" 

Charlie felt confused. Why was Rory asking questions? Why couldn't he just say yes or no? And what answer did Rory want him to give? "Well," he began, a little uncertainly, "I haven't slept with anyone else since August." No, that wouldn't do - it made him sound pathetic, like he was only with Rory because no one else would have him. "I do want to do it. But it's OK if you don't." 

"You do?" 

"Yes." He nodded, for emphasis. 

Rory reached up and pulled him in for a kiss. "Right, then. I'll ring my doctor on Monday and get us an appointment." 

Charlie felt both elated and dismayed. Rory wanted it too, and that was fantastic! But he wasn't sure about seeing Rory's doctor. "Would he be able to see me, though? I'm still on the list at my parents' GP." And he really, really didn't want to go and see old Dr Wendell and ask him for an HIV test - the man had treated him for chicken pox, for heaven's sake. He still saw at least one member of the Pace family every month, and Charlie couldn't bear to think of him inadvertently letting his mother know he'd been at the surgery. 

"Oh, you're right. Maybe we should go to the men's health clinic instead." 

Charlie grimaced, but he knew it was probably the best option for them. The last test he'd had had been with Richard at the university health clinic, but of course he couldn't go there now. It would have to be a hospital clinic. "Not at the Royal though. Mum works there," he explained. "We could try the North." 

Rory kissed him again. "We'll work it out. And we'll get the tests, and then we'll be able to fuck without condoms. Maybe even by Christmas." 

Charlie smiled. He hadn't thought of that, but of course the timing was perfect. "Yeah, that'll make a great Christmas present." 

They kissed again, and Charlie wriggled closer so that he could put his arms around his lover. He felt a huge sense of relief that he'd finally asked and Rory hadn't objected. Of course, now that he'd finally done it he felt stupid for not doing it weeks ago, but he knew he'd been right to wait. And once they'd done the tests and got the results back ... then they'd really be a couple. 

  
_Wednesday 22 December 1999_

They walked up the path from the car park to the clinic in silence, each of them worried that the test results might throw up something unexpected. The doctor had been reasonbly confident the week before, when he'd written the tests up, but you could never tell. 

Once installed in the waiting room, Charlie got more and more twitchy, his heels drumming on the floor as he sat and fiddled with his watch. Rory put out a hand and rested it on his knee for a moment, and he paused. 

"It'll be all right," murmured Rory. 

"What if it isn't?" He tried to keep himself still, but he was too agitated. 

"It'll still be all right," repeated Rory. "We can deal with it." 

Charlie shook his head. He wanted this whole day to be over. Even if it was bad news, at least he'd know. It was the uncertainty that was unnerving him. 

Finally they were called in, and Charlie felt a sense of relief as the doctor greeted them easily and without embarrassment. 

"Well, I'm happy to tell you that all the tests have come back negative," he said straight away, as if he knew that neither of them would be able to concentrate on anything else until they'd assimilated the news. "Obviously, with regard to the HIV and syphilis, we'd like you to have a follow-up test in three months to allow for the antibody window. And it's a good idea to have yourselves tested at least annually, or more often if it's an open relationship." 

Charlie shrugged that aside. He hadn't slept with anyone but Rory since the summer, so if they were both clear, they were both clear. He felt a huge weight leave him, and realised that he'd been a bit more worried than he'd thought. 

"It's not," said Rory, quite firmly, and Charlie smiled at him fondly. Rory was turning out to be a little possessive, which made Charlie feel rather special. He'd never come first with anyone before, and he found that he liked it. 

There was a little more conversation about protection and drugs and sexual hygiene, which Charlie ignored in favour of daydreaming about what he was going to do to Rory that night. Then they were walking out of the office and back to the car. 

Charlie was almost skipping down the path. He had no diseases and neither did Rory and as soon as they got back to the flat he was going to pounce on his boyfriend and get himself well and truly fucked - without a condom! - and he was going to be able to feel Rory releasing inside him and that was going to be the best Christmas present ever. 

Charlie grabbed hold of Rory's hand as they entered the car park, and Rory must have been in an especially good mood (or happy that no one was watching) because he didn't pull away at all, and even gave Charlie's hand a squeeze. 

"I think we'll pick up some food on the way home," he said, pulling the car keys out of his pocket. 

"We could get something delivered," suggested Charlie, who didn't want to delay them getting home. 

Rory grinned at him. "Not tonight. By the time it turns up, we'd be in bed. So we'll get something ourselves, and then it won't matter what we do for the rest of the evening. And no curries tonight." 

Charlie grinned back. "I love it when you think ahead," he admitted. He was bouncing up and down with anticipation and he knew he must look ridiculous, but he couldn't help it. 

"Come on, then," said Rory, opening the car door. "Get in and we'll be off home." 

Charlie gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and then hurried around to the passenger side. 

  
_Thursday 30 December 1999_

Charlie was pottering around in the kitchen, trying to work out what he was going to have for a late breakfast, when his mother walked in. 

"Hello, dear," she said as she switched the kettle on. "How are you?" 

"Fine." 

"What time did you get in last night?" 

Charlie yawned. "About one, I think. Pat dropped me off." 

"I thought you might be staying over with Rory." 

Charlie stiffened, then forced himself to keep his eyes fixed on the contents of the fridge. "Why would you think that?" he enquired, as casually as he could. 

"Oh, no reason in particular," said Meg. "Just that you seem to have been spending a bit of time with him in the past few weeks." 

"Oh. Well, yeah ... I guess I have." 

Meg busied herself with the tea. Charlie dropped some bread in the toaster and put butter and marmalade on the bench. 

"I'll have to get some more marmalade this afternoon," she remarked. "You've been eating it a lot, recently." 

Charlie couldn't help himself. He felt his cheeks go red and kept his face turned away. "It's not a crime to like marmalade, is it?" 

"Of course not. You used to love it when you were little, and then you went off it in high school. I just wondered what made you take it up again." 

Charlie shrugged. "No reason. I just wanted something sweet." 

"Well, I'll get some more when I'm at the supermarket. They had some of the Dundee thick-cut on special last week - I should have got some then." 

"Yeah, that'd be nice." 

The toast popped up and he busied himself with applying butter and marmalade before taking the slices over to the table. He sat down and took a big bite. 

"Late shift today?" he asked. 

"Mmm," she sighed. "And tomorrow evening as well. They've been mucking around with the rosters again." 

The kettle boiled, and Meg made two cups of tea, placing one beside Charlie. He nodded his thanks and kept on eating. It wasn't long before the toast was finished, and he was debating the merits of another two slices of toast now against the possibility of lunch over at Pat's place later on. 

"So, what are you going to do today?" asked Meg. 

"Charlie shrugged again. "Not sure. Thought I might go over to Pat's and work on a couple of songs." 

"Oh, I thought you'd be off with Rory again." 

"He's in Glasgow for a few days - Hogmanay. I'll see him on Monday." And he'd refused to take Charlie with him, and Charlie wasn't at all happy about that, though he'd had to admit, if just to himself, that it was probably better that Mr McManus Sr wasn't forced to come face-to-face with his son's boyfriend just yet. 

"Charlie," began Meg, hesitantly, "I know it's none of my business, but ... are you and Rory more than just friends?" 

Charlie froze, wondering if his mother really could read his mind, and Meg hurried on. 

"It's OK if you are, love, it's just that I noticed at your birthday party that you seemed to be ... well, very _close_ at times, and you've spent quite a lot of time with him since then. I just wondered if he was your boyfriend." 

Charlie took a deep breath to deny it, but the words froze in his mouth. The silence grew, and he knew he was condemning himself with every passing second, but he simply couldn't utter a sound. He couldn’t tell the truth, and he didn't want to lie, not to his mother. 

"It's OK, love, really it is," said Meg, soothingly, reaching out to touch his hand. "It won't make any difference to me." 

"It will to Dad," he said, without thinking, and then cursed himself again, knowing that there was no backing out now. Finally, he looked up at his mother, who smiled sadly. 

"Well, we'll just have to find a way of telling him, then." 

"How - how long have you known?" he asked. 

"That you're gay? About seven or eight years, I suppose." 

Charlie's jaw dropped, and he stared at her, incredulous. "But that's - I didn't know myself till I was fifteen!" 

Meg laughed. "There's more to mother's magic than knowing when you haven't done your homework, love." 

Charlie shook his head. "And I thought I’d been so careful." 

"You were, love. And I don't think your Dad knows. But ... oh, I don't know. It was any one of a hundred little things." 

"Like what?" He couldn't believe it. How could she possibly know? How could she possibly have known before he did himself? 

"Well, you never looked at Liam's girlfriends, for one. He'd bring home a different girl every week, and some of them were real stunners, but you barely even noticed them - you paid more attention to Theresa's boyfriends. Paul, for one." 

Charlie blushed. Paul had been drop-dead gorgeous, and Charlie had been glad when Tess had dropped him and Charlie didn't have to worry about sporting a hard-on every time he came into the house. "Yeah, well, he was pretty." 

"That he was." 

Charlie groaned again. "What else?" 

"Well, Liam had posters of Kylie Minogue and Julia Roberts up on the wall; you had Luis Figo and Ryan Giggs." 

"They’re footballers, Mum. That's different." He tried to scowl, but it was no use, not when she was smiling at him so warmly. 

"And then there were the magazines." 

"What?!" Charlie screeched. "You didn't ... " 

"Well, I was putting things away in the wardrobe and the lid came off the box." 

"Oh my God," groaned Charlie, dropping his head on his arms. "I don't even want to think about what was in there." 

"It really doesn't bother me, Charlie. As long as you're happy, and making sure you stay safe, then I'm happy for you." 

"Thanks, Mum." 

"You are being safe, aren't you?" 

"Yeah. Every time." At least he could say that with a clear conscience. 

She sipped her tea and then asked, "So, what's he like, this Rory of yours? I didn't get to talk to him much at the party." 

"He's Scottish." 

"I gathered that." 

"He's ... he's not very easy to get to know." He thought about what he could say that would convey the essence of Rory without betraying any hint of his shadier dealings. "He's not had an easy life, and he doesn't open up to people very easily. He laughs a lot when I'm with him, but he's a bit prickly with people he doesn't know very well. He's always very controlled - he hardly ever does anything on impulse." 

"Does he have any family here in Manchester?" 

"No. His father's in Glasgow. They don't get on all that well. I think his mother's dead or gone away - he never mentions her." 

"Oh, the poor thing." 

Charlie grinned. "Don't let him hear you say that. He hates anyone to feel sorry for him." 

Meg nodded. "I'll keep that in mind. What does he do?" 

"He runs a business - a domestic and office cleaning firm. Not very glamorous, but he seems to get by." 

"How did you meet him?" 

Charlie took a swig from his tea and then gave her the story they'd agreed on before the party. "At a gig. He saw the band one night and had a chat with me and Liam afterwards. Things just went on from there." He smiled, hoping she wouldn't want to probe much further. 

"And you fell in love?" 

"Yeah." He couldn't help smiling, remembering that hesitant, scorching first kiss outside the club just a few weeks ago. 

"Well, if you look like that whenever you think about him, I'm not surprised. Why don't you bring him over for lunch one Sunday?" 

Charlie thought about that. "Before or after telling Dad?" he said, finally. 

"Hmm. Good point. I'm tempted to say before, so that he can get to know Rory a little before we tell him, but knowing your father, he wouldn't like to think he'd been tricked." 

"But if we tell him before, he may not let Rory in the house at all." 

"True." 

"Does he have to know?" 

"I don't think you can keep it a secret much longer, love - not if you keep looking at each other the way you did at the party." 

_Each other?_ "Was he looking at me, then?" 

Meg laughed. "Charlie, he looked at you like a starving man looks at food. Like he could never get enough of you." 

"Oh," breathed Charlie, feeling a warmth kindling in his groin at the thought of Rory wanting him so much he'd let his feelings show in public. 

"So I think it's best if you and I work out how to tell your Dad sooner rather than later." 

"I don't want to lie to him, but if he turns me out of the house ..." 

"He won't. Not if he knows what's good for him." 

"'Then we'd best do it soon." 

"Hmm. I'll think about it. I'll have to prepare the ground first. Put him in a good mood." She winked. 

"I am _not_ going to ask for any details on that." 

"Just as well." 

"Umm, Mum?" 

"Yes, dear?" 

"Could we make it a Sunday when Liam's not going to be here?" 

"Why?" 

"Well, they've met already, and they don't get on at all. It would make things very awkward for Rory if Liam was here." 

"Hmm. I'll see what I can do." 

Charlie stood up and rinsed the dishes in the sink. "I'd better get over to Pat's now. Got to have more songs ready for the New Year." 

"You'll be fine. Now get going, before I draft you in to help me do the shopping." 

"OK. See you later." 

He kissed her on the cheek, grabbed his jacket and his acoustic guitar and headed up the street. He'd only taken a few steps when he started hyperventilating. He'd just come out to his mother. It was the second most-dreaded event in his life, and it had gone better than he'd expected. Now all he had to do was survive the first most-dreaded event, which was telling his father, and after that nothing would ever scare him again. 

He pulled himself together and walked the rest of the way to Pat's house with a smile on his face. 

  
_Saturday 1 January 2000_

Charlie was sitting in his bedroom, trying to work out a new song, when the phone rang. He grabbed it, and saw that it was Rory calling. 

"Hello? Charlie speaking." 

"It's Rory." 

"Hi! I thought you were still in Glasgow." 

"No, I left early. Fancy some lunch?" 

The invitation sounded casual, but Charlie suspected that there was a bit more to it. Rory hadn't expected to be back until Sunday night, so for him to have returned more than a day early meant that something had happened. And since Rory got on with his father about as well as Charlie got on with Liam, it was a fair bet that Rory and his Da had had another argument. Charlie just hoped that it had been only a verbal argument and not a fight - he could still picture Rory's dreadful bruises from the summer, and he didn't want to see his lover beaten and bloody ever again. 

He kept all of that to himself, though, and simply answered, "Yeah, sure. Do you want me to meet you somewhere? 

"I'm at the end of the street. I can get something delivered." 

That didn't bode well, but there was nothing he could do right now except agree. "Fine. Just give me a couple of minutes to get out of here." 

"OK." 

Rory rang off and Charlie sat for a few seconds, tapping the phone against his teeth, trying to work out what had happened. At least if Rory was fit to drive himself back from Glasgow he couldn't be badly injured, but he was likely to be in a foul mood, and that meant that Charlie would have to tread very gingerly for the next few days. And the first thing he had to do was get out of here before Rory got impatient waiting for him. 

He got up and threw a couple of things into his backpack - he doubted he'd be back in the family home before Monday, and he really did like to change his underwear from time to time. 

His mother was in the kitchen, making Kevin wash his hands before he ate his lunch. 

"I'm just going over to a friend's place," he said. "Might not be back until Monday." 

Meg looked at him, concerned, but he smiled brightly at her. "Nothing to worry about. It's just that someone's come back early from up north and I want to catch up with him." 

"Ah," she said, catching on. "Thanks for letting me know, then." 

He kissed her on the cheek and hurried out of the house and down the street. 

Rory was waiting for him just around the corner. Charlie slipped into the passenger seat but a quick glance at Rory's face convinced him that now was not a good time for conversation, so he remained silent on the brief journey to Whitefield, and only spoke once they were safely in the flat. 

Rory had dropped his bag just inside the door and had gone through to the kitchen. He stared out of the window, into the small patch of brown-tinged grass that passed for a garden at this season. 

Charlie came up behind him and slid his arms around his lover, tucking his chin over Rory's shoulder. "So, lover, what's the matter?" he asked. 

Rory shook his head. "Not now." He reached for the kettle and started to fill it. 

"You can tell me, you know. Always sympathetic." 

"Not now, Charlie." He set the kettle down and switched it on. 

"Come on, you'll feel better once you've got it off your chest." 

Rory turned around and glared at him. "Look, can you just shut up for a moment?" 

Charlie looked at him, astonished. "Keep your hair on! I just want to help." 

"You can help by keeping quiet or getting out." 

"Do you want me to go?" He could feel his temper flaring and wondered if this was going to be the end of it. If Rory shouted at him, then they were going to have a rip-roaring argument and that would lead to all sorts of problems. 

But instead of shouting, Rory simply leaned back against the sink, and shut his eyes. "No. I just don't want to talk about it. I'm tired, and I want to have a cup of tea and something to eat and then I just want to be quiet for a while." 

"Oh." Well, at least Charlie could understand that. And really, it wasn't too difficult to feel sympathetic for a boyfriend who looked bone-weary and exhausted. Charlie wondered if he'd slept at all the night before, and then wondered how he'd managed to drive back from Glasgow without causing an accident. 

He leaned forward, cupped Rory's face in his hands and kissed him gently on the lips. "Go and sit down and pour yourself a whisky. I'll make the tea and I'll make you some lunch and then you can have a nap on the sofa and I'll wake you in time for dinner. How's that sound?" 

Rory seemed to sag a little and Charlie quickly put his arms around him. "Sounds good," he whispered. "I'm knackered." 

"You are. Come on then." 

He walked Rory through to the living room, and left him sitting on the settee with a large glass of whisky, looking as if he was more asleep than awake. He made tea as soon as the kettle had boiled, and while Rory was drinking that he quickly fried a couple of eggs and made some toast. Once Rory had eaten, he made him lie down on the settee, and promised to wake him for the news at six. 

Rory was asleep in seconds, and Charlie wondered again what had happened in Glasgow. Almost certainly he'd had another argument with his father, though they didn't seem to have come to blows this time. He wondered what it had been about. He wondered if the argument had been about him. Maybe Rory had told his father that they were now officially boyfriends, and his father hadn't liked it. 

He sighed. At least Rory's father knew about his son. Charlie's own father was yet to find out, and Charlie had no idea how he was going to take it, though he was hoping that his mother could manage to tell him in a way that didn't end up with Charlie out in the street again. Maybe if his father threw him out he might be able to move in with Rory for a while. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to daydream about living with Rory one day. 

At a quarter to six he rang for a pizza, then put the kettle on and made another pot of tea. At five to six he set the tray down on the coffee table and gently shook Rory awake. 

"Hey, love, time to wake up." 

Rory groaned and sat up, bleary-eyed and confused, as if he'd forgotten that he'd driven home that morning. "I feel like shite." 

"Don't worry, there's fresh tea in the pot and a pizza on the way. You'll feel better in no time." 

Rory nodded and reached for the tea and the remote control. 

The pizza arrived as the weather started, and by the time he'd eaten his half, Rory was looking much better. Charlie cleared away the debris and came back to sit on the settee beside Rory. 

"So," he began. "Want to tell me about it?" 

Rory shook his head. 

"Sure?" 

"Are you always this nosy?" 

"Yep. And I was worried. I didn't expect you back until Monday." 

"I just wanted to be back here." The _with you_ was silent, but Charlie could tell that Rory meant it from the way his arm reached over to caress Charlie's leg, and he felt warm inside. Rory had left Scotland early and had come back to grimy, dreary Manchester to be with him. 

Rory yawned, and Charlie said, "Why don't you go up and have a shower?" 

"Mmm. Come with me?" 

"Want your back washed?' 

"And other bits." 

Charlie grinned. "I can promise you that all your bits will get my full attention." 

"Good." 

As they headed up the stairs, Charlie thought that this was going to be a very good year ... for the both of them. 

  
_Friday 7 January 2000_

Charlie walked into the house and closed the door quietly behind him. Their first gig of the year had gone really well, and he was tired and happy and ready for his bed. He popped his head into the lounge to say goodnight to his parents, but Meg called him into the room. 

"Charlie, love, your father and I want to talk you." 

Oh. He set his guitar case down and took a deep breath. This was it, then. This was the interview he'd been dreading for years ... and the worst of it was that he didn't have the option of avoiding it, not now that he had Rory to think about. He needed both his parents onside if he was to have any chance of having a normal and open relationship with his boyfriend. 

He went into the lounge. His father was sitting in his usual armchair, the paper folded at his side. His expression wasn't happy, but it wasn't all that angry either. 

"Hi, Mum, Dad," he said, going over to Meg and kissing her cheek. 

"How are you, dear?" 

"Not bad. Tired. It was a good gig, though. Lots of new people - I think the publicity is really starting to pay off." 

"I'm glad of that." 

There was an awkward silence. Charlie sat himself down on the sofa and looked at his parents, waiting for them to start. 

Mike looked at Meg, who sighed and said, "I've told your father, love, and he's not very happy about it." 

Charlie shrugged, but he didn't speak. What could he say, anyway? He wasn't going to change his sexual orientation just because his father wasn't happy. 

Meg looked pointedly at Mike, who, just as pointedly, ignored her. "Your father is worried about Kevin. I've told him it's not really an issue, but he still wants your reassurance that you won't expose Kevin to anything inappropriate." 

"What? Do you think I'm going to be showing him gay porn?" He could feel his temper flaring and fought to keep it under control - it wouldn't help him to get into another blazing row. 

"No, love. He just doesn't want you kissing your boyfriend in front of Kevin." 

"Like I'd do that anyway." He glared at his father, who had transferred his attention to the fireplace. 

"Now, Charlie, your father has a couple of questions." She fixed her look on Mike, who simply cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. She smiled and got up. "I'll just go and make you a cup of coffee, shall I?" 

"Thanks, Mum." 

Charlie looked at the carpet, wondering what his father wanted to ask him, and whether his father was angry or disappointed with him for being gay. He knew his mother wouldn't let him be thrown out, precisely, but Charlie knew only too well how difficult his father could be when he was angry - the arguments they'd had the previous Christmas, when Charlie dropped out of uni, had made life intolerable at home, and he'd jumped at the chance to move in with Liam just to get out of the house. 

Mike cleared his throat. Charlie waited for him to speak. Mike cleared his throat again. "Hrmph." There was another pause, then he managed to speak. "So, your mother tells me you're ... umm ... gay." 

_Hadn't we already established that?_ thought Charlie. "Er ... yeah." 

Mike nodded, slowly, and stared at the carpet. "I don't suppose it's just a phase?" 

_Oh, for Heaven's sake - do I have to go through every coming-out cliché in the book?_ "No, Dad. I'm gay for life." With no remission for good behaviour, but he wasn't going to say that out loud, either. 

"Ah." 

"Umm ... I've got a boyfriend. Did Mum tell you that?" 

"Yes, she did. She wants him to come to lunch on Sunday." 

"Yeah. Not my idea." 

"You don't have to tell me that," sighed Mike, and the two males shared a moment of empathy at being outmanoeuvred by Meg. 

"His name's Rory. You actually met him at my birthday party." 

"The Scottish lad?" He looked surprised. 

"That's the one." 

"I wouldn't have picked him as ... gay." 

"Well, we're not all like Liberace or Julian Clary. Most of us are pretty ordinary, you know." 

Oops. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to bring up a couple of flaming queens. Charlie saw Mike's face harden again and frantically searched for something less provocative, but his father spoke first. 

"I don’t want you dressing up like women, or wearing make-up. Not in this house." 

Charlie closed his eyes in disbelief, and made a note to hide the nail polish he'd just bought. And the body glitter. "It's OK, Dad, I'm not a cross-dresser. I don't want to wear women's clothing. I don't want to be a woman. I'm a bloke. I just happen to like other blokes instead of girls, but that's the only difference, honest. I still like football and music and beer. I'm just the same as I was last year and the year before." 

"And no goings-on with your ... with him ... in this house either." 

"Promise." That was no hardship. He already spent half his free time in Rory's flat and in Rory's bed, and he really couldn't imagine Rory becoming a frequent visitor to the house. 

Mike sighed, and Charlie saw him shake his head, as if he had given up. Then he sighed heavily, and said, "It's not what I wanted for you." 

"I know." And really, Charlie couldn't be angry with him any more. He was trying, after all. "It's not your fault, you know," he added. "That I'm gay, I mean. It's not something I chose to spite you. You can't choose to be gay or straight - you're just born that way." 

"What about Kevin? Will he be ... like you?" 

Charlie shrugged. "I don't know. Does it really make a difference? 

"He's more like you than Liam." 

"It doesn't follow that he'll be gay." 

"But how can I tell?" 

He shrugged again. "Ask Mum. She says she knew when I was about 13. I didn't know it myself till I was 15." He leaned forward. "He'll always be Kevin, Dad. No matter if he turns out straight or gay or bi, he'll always be the same person." 

"I know that, but ... you read so much about it. Diseases and AIDS and things." 

"You don't have to be gay to get AIDS. Or sexually transmitted diseases." 

Mike nodded. "Are you being, well, _careful?"_

"Yes, Dad. Every time." 

"Good. Don't want to think of you getting sick." 

And that was probably the closest his Dad was going to get to saying he still loved him, and Charlie was grateful for that much. 

Meg came in with the coffee. "I've told your father that I'll invite Rory to lunch on Sunday, and that I expect all of you to behave politely so that we can have a civil conversation. I'm not going to cook a family meal just to have it all destroyed by argument." 

"Better make sure Liam's not there, then." He took his coffee and sipped it, gratefully. It was cold outside, and the heater in Pat's van could always be relied on to fail in winter. 

Meg nodded. "He's already told me he's going to Leeds to see Jeff this weekend," she said, and Charlie could see she wasn't all that pleased. He knew that she liked having the whole family around her on Sundays, but putting Rory and Liam in the same room for three hours was asking for trouble. 

"OK. I'll ring Rory in the morning and tell him he's invited. I don't think he's got anything planned for Sunday. 

Meg smiled, and Mike look resigned at the loss of his usual Sunday afternoon snooze. 

Charlie drank his coffee and prayed that Sunday would turn out to be a success. 


	2. Prodigy

**2.1 - Lunch _en famille_**

_Sunday 9 January 2000_

Rory opened the wardrobe doors and grimaced. What does a man wear to Sunday lunch with the family of his boyfriend when they’ve only just found out he's gay? He didn't want to look a complete twat by being overdressed, but on the other hand, he didn't want to make the mistake of appearing too casual. It was tricky problem, and he wished that Charlie had given him more detailed advice than "something nice". Eventually, after scrutinising almost every garment in his wardrobe, he chose plain dark grey slacks, a light-grey collared shirt and a dark green sweater that Charlie loved, and which he knew brought out the colour of his eyes. He added a tie to the shirt, then took it off again. It was a family lunch, he reminded himself. No one wore a tie to a family lunch any more. 

He looked at the reflection in the mirror and wondered what the Paces would see - a successful businessman who just happened to be gay, or some sort of predator who had corrupted their son? He could hardly expect to be welcomed with open arms, no matter how broad-minded they were. Even his own father could barely tolerate him since the he had defiantly told him he was gay. How could people he'd only met at a party a month ago do any better? 

His mood didn't improve as he drove the short distance to the Pace house, and he felt very nervous as he parked the car - more nervous, even, than the first time he'd been arrested. That had been a walk in the park in comparison with the way he felt now. This time he had no one to bail him out, no one to back him up, and if he fucked up, there was a good chance that he'd lose Charlie forever. He didn't want that. 

He picked up the bottle of wine he'd brought and walked up the garden path. He paused on the doorstep, smoothing his palms against his trousers and taking a deep breath. Then he rang the doorbell and waited, wishing that he had never agreed to this, at least not so soon, not when there were still things that he and Charlie had to sort out. 

The door was opened, and Charlie threw his arms around Rory, hugging him so tightly that Rory started to protest. "I need to breathe, Charlie," he said, though he didn't pull out of the hug. 

"I was afraid you wouldn't come," said Charlie, 

"So was I," muttered Rory, but he didn't think Charlie heard him. ""You asked me to come here to meet your family, love. Did you think I'd chicken out?" 

Charlie laughed and shook his head. "No, not for a moment." He gave Rory another hug and then backed into the hall, pulling Rory with him. "Come and meet everyone." 

Rory followed Charlie through the hallway and into the lounge, where they found the rest of the family waiting to meet him - Mr and Mrs Pace (whom he had met at Charlie's party), a dark-haired girl, and a boy. No Liam, thank goodness. Charlie had said that Liam wouldn't be there, but Rory had half-expected him to turn up just to create trouble. 

Michael had a fairly guarded expression on his face, but offered his hand with no apparent hesitation. "Welcome, Rory." 

Rory shook it firmly, and said, "Mr Pace," then handed him the bottle of wine. "I brought a small contribution, but I don't know if it'll be suited to the meal." 

"That's very good of you." 

Meg didn't offer her hand but came forward and enveloped Rory in a hug. "Welcome, dear," she said, and Rory could hear the sincerity in her voice. He didn't resist as she kissed him on the cheek, but he hoped that he wasn't going red. 

"Th-thank you," he managed to get out. 

"This is Bridget, my sister." Bridget was a teenager, dark-haired and a little taller than her mother, with a slight frown on her face, as if she were sizing him up - which she probably was. Charlie said she was bright, and a whiz at languages. He remembered that she'd been handing food around at the party last month, though he hadn't really spoken to her. 

"Pleased to meet you, Bridget." He offered his hand, which she took after a slight hesitation - though he wasn't sure if it was because she wasn't yet used to shaking hands or if she resented his treatment of her brother. 

"And this is Kevin." The warmth in Charlie's voice was unmistakeable as he presented the pert ten-year-old, and Rory imagined that Charlie had had much the same bright and cheeky expression on his face at the same age. 

"Hello, Kevin," said Rory, smiling down at the youngster. 

"Are you Scottish?" the boy asked. 

"Aye, that I am," he replied. "From Glasgow." 

"You sound Scottish. We have a teacher at school who's Scottish but he doesn't sound like you." 

"He might be from a different part of Scotland." 

Kevin nodded, solemnly, then asked, "Do you play football?" 

"No, I don't, not since I was at school. Sorry," he added, as Kevin looked disappointed at his answer. 

Kevin shrugged. "It's OK. I guess." 

Charlie grinned apologetically and ruffled Kevin's hair, causing the boy to squirm in disgust. "Sorry, Kevin's a bit football mad, aren't you, eh?" 

Rory smiled sympathetically at the boy's discomfort. "There are plenty of worse things to be." 

Meg stepped forward. "That's enough, now Kevin, let Mr McManus talk with Charlie and your father. You come and help me in the kitchen." She smiled at the men. "Dinner will be about half an hour. Michael, offer Rory a drink." 

Kevin followed his mother out of the room, leaving the men and Bridget standing 

"Yes, well, you'd better come and sit down," said Michael. "Charlie tells me you like whisky." 

"I do." 

"Charlie, get us all a glass of whisky - the Chivas Regal," he added, for Rory's benefit, "No need to think I'd be fobbing you off with the cheap stuff." 

"Thank you," said Rory faintly, wondering how he would manage to keep a straight face drinking a blend. 

"Do you take anything with it?" 

"Some dry ginger, if you have it." At least then he wouldn't have to pretend it was good. He was going to have to do some serious re-education here if he was going to be part of the family - he couldn't go on drinking blended whisky for long. 

Charlie came back with the glasses, and Rory sipped his drink, reminding himself that it could have been a lot worse. At least it wasn't some Japanese imitation. Or bourbon. 

Michael harrumphed, cast a wistful glance at the Sunday paper folded up by his chair, and manfully forced himself to turn back to his guest. 

"Charlie tells me you run your own business. Cleaning, wasn't it?" 

"Aye. Well, my father owns it, along with several others, but he gives me a free hand to run the cleaning business." Not the other business, no indeed, but he wasn't even going to hint at that. Today he had to be the completely legitimate businessman. "I've already started to expand the range of contracts we can do. It's mainly office cleaning at present, but I'm hoping to diversify into domestic work in the next twelve months, and then further into the catering and events management side. 

"Well, that's a growing market. Our last Christmas party was a complete shambles - the room was cold, the food was bad and the booze dried up too early." 

"That's a shame, Mr Pace. Perhaps by next year I'll be in a position to offer you a better alternative." 

"What sort of prices would you be talking about?" 

Rory shook his head. "I'm sorry, I really couldn't give you a meaningful quote at the moment. Get back to me in August, and I'll be better placed to help." 

Michael nodded. Rory relaxed a little. It seemed as if Charlie's father wasn't so much antagonistic as out of his depth, and that was a feeling that Rory could appreciate and sympathise with. He chose his next words with care. 

"Is it from you that Charlie gets his passion for football?" 

Michael actually smiled at that, and Rory congratulated himself on the choice of topic. "That he does. Many's the game we've gone to, together, eh, Charlie?" he said jovially. 

"Sure, Dad," said Charlie, smiling. 

"It was a real disappointment to me, when Liam didn't take to the game, but Charlie here's been a fan since he was knee high to a duck." 

"True," confirmed Charlie. "Dad says my very first words were 'Offside, my arse!', but I think that's a bit of an exaggeration." 

Mike smiled. "Only a bit. Took him to his first game when he was ten." 

"It was my birthday present." 

"It was freezing cold, that's what it was. But you loved it all the same.' 

"Never looked back." 

"He's been a member of the club since he was twelve." 

"Also a birthday present." 

"He even got to meet Eric Cantona once - ah, that was a day." 

"He actually talked to me! And he gave me his autograph, too." 

"I bet you still have that, somewhere," said Rory with a smile. 

Charlie grinned back. "I do. Do you want me to go and get it?" 

"No, it'll wait for another time." 

Charlie smiled warmly - probably at the thought that there would be another time - and Rory couldn't help but smile back. 

"Did you ever see him play?" asked Mike. 

"Not live. But I saw him on the TV, of course. He was a great player." 

"That he was." Mike took another gulp of his whisky. "It was a sad day when he retired." 

Rory fished around for something else to say. Since soccer was a relatively safe subject, he thought he'd stick with it. "Not the only great player the club's had, though." 

"You're right there!" agreed Mike, enthusiastically. "George Best, Bryan Robson, Roy Keane, David Beckham - you could say that United's had the lion's share of the great players over the years." 

Mike started to list some of the outstanding players who had worn the famous red shirt, with suggestions from Charlie, and Rory sat back and watched them, happy that everything was going well so far and that Charlie and his father were able to talk just as normally as ever, even in front of his boyfriend. 

It was nearly twenty minutes later - and the roll-call of United's great players was far from complete - when Meg called them to the table, and they sat down in the seats she indicated. Rory, as befitted a guest, was seated at Meg's right hand, with Charlie beside him, and he felt Charlie's leg touching his own, seeking reassurance. 

The meal was hearty but not elaborate: a simple roast with potatoes and a selection of vegetables, and the wine complemented them beautifully. Rory gritted his teeth and made himself swallow the beans and broccoli. He wasn't fond of them by any means, but it was a small sacrifice in order to earn Meg's good opinion. 

"So, Rory," Meg smiled at him. "Charlie tells me you're from Glasgow. How long have you been living in Manchester?" 

"Just eighteen months. My father acquired the business early last year and wasn't happy with the way it was being run, so he sent me here to sort it out." 

Mike looked at him intently, and Rory could feel that he was being sized up, that Mike wasn't sure that he looked as if he were up to the task. 

"It took a while," he added, "and I had to let a few of the staff go, but the company's doing quite well now, and I'm looking at opportunities for expansion, as I said before." 

"How many employees do you manage?" 

"About forty at the moment. High turnover, of course, but what can you do?" 

"Pay them more?" suggested Charlie. 

"If I paid them more, the whole business would fall over. Then they'd all be on the dole." 

Mike nodded. "People just don't understand the economic realities these days. It's got to the stage where I get an eighteen-year-old kid, straight out of school, and he expects to be paid a supervisor's wage. The kid's got a couple of A-levels, but he's got no experience, no talent and no bloody manners!" 

"Mike!" Meg expostulated, glancing meaningfully at Kevin. 

"Sorry, love. And don't let me catch you saying that, do you hear me?" he glared at the boy. 

"Yes, Dad," muttered Kevin. Rory gathered that it was something he heard quite a lot, and tried not to smile - sometimes fathers were all the same, no matter what city they lived in. He wondered if he should try and change the subject, and glanced at Biddy. 

"Charlie tells me you're studying your A-levels," he said, hoping that she'd take the hint. She did, and started telling him about all the subjects she was doing, and the languages she hoped to study at university. That took them through the clearing of plates and the arrival of a treacle pudding and custard, which Rory tackled with much more enthusiasm, even going so far as to have a second helping with very little persuasion. He'd have to do a bit more exercise during the week, but it would be worth it, especially as it turned out to be Biddy's cooking. She blushed prettily at his compliments and Rory guessed that it was a trait that ran through the family. 

After the meal had finished it was back to the lounge, where they drank tea and made a few further desultory attempts at conversation. Kevin fidgeted until his mother told him that he could go upstairs, and then he was off like a shot. It wasn't much later that Rory saw that Mike was dying to get back to his papers, so he finished his tea and set down his cup. 

"Thank you for the wonderful meal, Mrs Pace," he began. 

"Call me Meg," she said, with a smile. "And it was no trouble. I'm glad you enjoyed it." 

"I did. But I don't want to take up all your afternoon, so I'll be off now and leave you in peace." 

Mike brightened up a little, but joined his wife in the usual polite protestations. "You're welcome to stay, you know." 

"No, no," said Rory. "It's been lovely, but I'm sure you have things to do." 

"You'll come again, I hope?" asked Meg, and Rory felt that she was genuinely keen to see him again. 

"Promise me treacle pudding and I'll be here every Sunday," he joked, and saw her smile. He received another hug from her, shook Mike's hand again, and said goodbye to Biddy. 

Charlie saw him out, and this time he allowed Charlie to hold him briefly as they stood by the front door. Charlie gave a furtive glance back in the direction of the lounge, and then quickly kissed him on the lips. 

"I'm not supposed to kiss you in the house," he explained. "In case Kevin sees." 

Rory rolled his eyes. "As if he'd be interested." 

"Yeah, well, I know that, but Dad's scared I'll infect him with gayness." He shrugged. "I can't seem to get through to him that Kevin's either gay or straight already, and there isn't much that anyone can do about it." 

Rory didn't answer. All he could think of was that at least Mike had accepted Charlie being gay - and even if he wasn't all that happy about it, he hadn't thrown Charlie out, and he'd just spent a couple of hours being civil to his son's boyfriend. That was a lot more than Rory's father had ever done for him. 

Charlie seemed to sense Rory's thoughts; he leaned forward and touched their shoulders together. "Would you like me to come over tomorrow? I could cook you dinner. No beans or broccoli, I promise." 

Rory nodded. 

Charlie risked another kiss, and then reached for the door. "Thanks for coming here." 

"It was good to meet your family." 

"Yeah, they're not so bad." He gave an embarrassed smile, and Rory smiled too. They weren't so bad, after all, and apart from the unfortunate choice of whisky, he'd had a pretty good time there. He remembered Pat's words from Charlie's birthday party - that Rory would be adopted into the family - and felt that in some small way it had already started. 

He kissed Charlie again, and then left. He turned back when he got to the gate and saw Charlie still standing by the open door, watching him intently, until a shout from inside reminded him that it was still January and the wind was bitterly cold. He smiled wanly and for a second Rory wanted to walk straight back up to him and carry him off, back to the warmth and safety of his own flat where they could kiss and hug and shag without worrying about anyone seeing or hearing them ... but that would have to wait for another time. He watched until Charlie had closed the door and then turned back to the street. 

As he got in the car, he grinned to himself and shook his head. Blended whisky and broccoli ... and yet he was prepared to go there again. Gods, he must be besotted. 

  
**2.2 - Making Love**

_Saturday 5 February 2000_

Later, when he thought back on that night, Rory thought he must have been slightly insane. He blamed it on the general euphoria that was surrounding the band after their second single, "You All Everybody", had reached number one on the UK charts two days previously. Charlie was feeling on top of the world and his high spirits were infectious. He'd cooked a meal for the two of them - just a simple stir-fry, but delicious - and had dragged Rory upstairs as soon as the dishwasher had been filled. 

They were lying in bed and Rory was kissing Charlie and running his hands over his stomach and flanks. He loved Charlie's skin - so hot, so smooth, so deliciously sensitive - and he took every opportunity now to touch it. He was hard, and his cock was brushing against Charlie's leg as he moved, and he was tempted to grind harder, but there was plenty of time yet, and the long tease just made everything more enjoyable in the end. 

Charlie rolled them over and began kissing in his turn, working his way down with his mouth until he was nuzzling between Rory's legs, teasing the delicate skin with lips and tongue and fingers. One finger was circling his arse, and suddenly he wanted Charlie to push it inside him. 

"Fuck me," he growled. 

Charlie looked up, shocked. 

Rory winced. He really hadn't meant to say that ... or had he? After all this time watching Charlie take it, he'd become curious. He wanted to try it, someday, he knew that, it was just that he hadn't planned on wanting it so much, not yet, not for a while. And now Charlie was looking at him as if he'd sprouted three heads - which would probably have been less surprising - and Rory felt like a complete prat. 

Charlie swallowed. "You mean that?" 

Rory was tempted to deny it, to put it down to temporary madness, but he couldn’t. He wanted to know what it would be like. He wanted to feel Charlie's cock inside him. Charlie said that the orgasm was deep, and more intense, and he wanted to feel that too, so he nodded. "I mean it." 

Charlie took a couple of deep breaths and sat up. "Wow. I didn't expect that. Not out of the blue." Then he looked at Rory seriously. "Have you ever done this before?" 

"Aye." The answer was short and sharp and meant to stop any further questions, but he should have known that Charlie would have picked up on it immediately. He didn't want to go into ancient history, not tonight. 

"Really?" 

"Really." 

Charlie looked at him suspiciously. 

Rory sighed and capitulated - well, to a certain extent. "It was a long time ago, and it didn't go well." He wasn't going to go into the details, though he couldn't help remembering it in his head. He'd been a little ambivalent about it to start with and hadn't chosen wisely, nor had he thought to mention that it was his first time. The man had barely prepared him and it had hurt so much he'd vowed never to do it again ... but that had been many years ago. This was now, and he knew that Charlie would be a lot more gentle, would take his time in preparing him, and he'd make sure it didn't hurt. 

Charlie looked upset just hearing the bare facts. "I'm sorry. I know how much it can hurt if it's not done right." 

"Nothing you can do about it, lad." 

"No. But I can make this time good for you." 

Charlie still looked sad, and Rory reached up to stroke his cheek. "Do that, Charlie." 

"I'll do that. I'll make this so good for you ... there's so much I want to do to you. Do for you. It'll be the best night ever, I promise." 

Charlie kissed him and then turned to kiss a path down his neck, running his hands all over Rory's body, kissing his neck, his chest, his stomach, his legs. There were kisses and feathery touches everywhere, and Rory was getting harder and harder and he really, really wanted Charlie to stop mucking about and start preparing him so they could get it all over and done with. 

He wriggled and squirmed for a few more seconds before growling, "Charlie, get on with it." 

"I am getting on with it." Charlie smiled down at him. "I'm making love to you. It takes a bit longer than fucking." 

Rory raised an eyebrow. He couldn't recall saying anything about _making love,_ but he knew he could always rely on Charlie to be a little bit girly when the opportunity arose, so he just lay back, closed his eyes, and tried to calm himself down. 

Charlie continued with his progress over Rory's body, slowly and thoroughly, until Rory felt as if every inch of his skin had been kissed and caressed. He was so ready for this that when Charlie eventually straightened up and reached for the lubricant, he was afraid that he was going to come as soon as Charlie put one finger inside him. 

The slight pause, however, allowed him to regain a little control, and he watched Charlie pouring the lotion over his fingers and warming it up. Then Charlie was leaning over him. "You still OK with this?" 

He nodded. "Aye. The suspense is killing me, though." 

Charlie laughed, and gently pushed Rory's left knee up and out, exposing his perineum. He felt an odd fluttering sensation in his stomach - he was still nervous, still anxious that it might hurt (though he knew Charlie would be careful) and apprehensive that Charlie might think him rubbish at it. And it didn't matter that Charlie was going to be doing all the work, or that it was more-or-less his first time. He still wanted it to be perfect. 

Charlie was teasing him again, running a finger over the delicate skin there, just getting everything wet, no pressure. It felt good, but he wanted more. Then Charlie started circling his arse again, and he took a deep breath. 

"Relax," said Charlie. "I told you I wouldn't hurt you. We'll take this nice and slowly, and if it hurts, just let me know and I'll back off a bit. OK?" 

"OK," he responded, thought he hoped there'd be no cause to back off. Oddly enough, he trusted Charlie absolutely, in spite of the fact that he usually bottomed. Or maybe it was because of that - after all, a bottom got to know all the things that could go wrong, all the things that a careless top could do without realising. Charlie was certainly being gentle enough, and the first finger entered him with no discomfort at all. It felt odd, certainly, but not painful. A second finger followed, and Charlie started stretching him, slowly and smoothly, and that was odd too, and a little bit uncomfortable, but he definitely couldn't call it painful. After another minute or two Charlie added a third finger, but he took his time, making sure that there wasn't too much of a stretch at once, and Rory found that he was really getting to like this feeling. 

As Charlie worked his way deeper, Rory wondered why it had taken him so long to get around to doing this. All right, so the last time had been pretty bad, and he hadn't really got trusted anyone since then, but surely there must have been men who could have done this for him before? He must have been crazy to think that topping was the only way to go. He must have been - what the fuck was _that?_

He opened his eyes and saw Charlie grinning at him. "That, my love, is God's gift to gay men. It's also why half the straight men in the world don't mind getting fucked occasionally." 

Charlie's fingertips were rubbing over his prostate, and it added a whole new dimension to the sensations he was feeling - so deep, so tingly, so overwhelming. He'd read that some men could come just from this, and now he could believe it. 

"Can we get to the fucking now?" he asked, his voice sounding hoarse and not really his own. 

"In a minute. I want to stretch you a little bit more first." 

"I'm not sure I can cope with much more." 

Charlie smiled at him. "You will. Don't worry." He reached for more lubricant and then Rory found himself being opened up even more. 

"Feels like you've got your whole hand in there." 

"Not quite. Four fingers though. Need to make sure you're as open as possible." 

It took a few more minutes before Charlie was satisfied that Rory was as open as he was going to be, and then he reached for one last bit of lubricant. "So glad we got tested," he muttered as he smoothed the lotion over his cock. "Want to feel you all around me." 

He put a hand on Rory's knee, then hesitated. "Do you want to be on your back, like this? You can be on your front or side, if you prefer." 

Rory thought about that for a moment. He wasn't all that fussed - he knew it was going to be a bit uncomfortable no matter which position they used - but he had a feeling that Charlie wanted them facing each other. "Like this is fine," he said, and knew he'd guessed correctly when Charlie beamed at him and pushed his knees apart. 

"Good. Want to see your face." 

Charlie grabbed a pillow and slid it under his hips - "It'll help," he explained - and then he was lining himself up and pushing, very gently, into Rory's body. As the tissue was stretched around Charlie's cock, Rory suddenly realised why his lover had been so cautious and methodical - even four fingers wasn't quite the same as this, and it burned. 

"I can pull out if you want. We can do this another time." 

Rory realised he must have been showing his discomfort, and forced it out of his mind. "It's no' so bad. Keep going." 

"Sure?" 

"I'm sure." 

Charlie took a deep breath and pushed a little further, and then withdrew a little. As he eased back in, Rory could feel the discomfort lessening and started to relax. After a few more gentle moves, he could feel his arousal returning, and tried to tilt his hips up so that Charlie could get a better angle. 

As Charlie continued to move, reality seemed to slip away. Rory was mesmerised, drawn into some weird twilight zone of sensation and abandon. He could see Charlie's face above him, and if he concentrated hard enough he could make out the room in the background, but it didn't seem real. Reality was the feel of Charlie's cock inside - inside! - his own body, moving slowly in and out, pulling and pushing on his own flesh, scraping past a myriad nerve endings he'd never known he'd had before tonight. Reality was the feel of Charlie's breath on his cheek, the sound of his voice whispering in Rory's ear, the smell of sweat and musk and the faint residue of aftershave. 

He liked this new reality. He didn't want it to end, he wanted to stay here forever and let the world go about its business without them. He wanted to feel Charlie's arms around him, feel his length within him, feel warm and protected and safe. He wanted time to stop. 

Fuck! He was getting as sentimental as a girl on a first date. He tried to clear his head, tried to concentrate on the sensation of being well-fucked by a boy with a crooked smile and storm-at-sea eyes, with sinuous hips and broad shoulders that only hinted at the strength they'd have in another five years. But then Charlie smiled at him, soft and happy and in control, and he felt himself reflecting everything back at his lover. He knew he was revealing far too much, showing Charlie everything, letting him see just how much Charlie meant to him now. Worst of all, he could hear himself babbling, nonsense words, odd fragments of thoughts, and he had no idea if Charlie understood any of it, except that he was smiling again and dipping his tongue into Rory's mouth and humming his happiness and - shit, he was doing it again. 

Charlie was getting close. "Mmm, so good, so tight, love this, love you, fuck, so good, want you so much..." 

"Aye, deeper , oh, I cannae ... mmm, I want more, love ye, Charlie, harder." Had he just asked Charlie to fuck him harder? Oh, God, yes he had, and Charlie was doing it, was thrusting deeper and harder and - yes, just the right angle - and Rory was swept up in a maelstrom of touch and heat and emotion and fireworks, and a total explosion that ripped through his body, making him cry out in astonishment and wonder as he felt his muscles contract around Charlie. 

It was at least a couple of minutes before he could form any coherent thought, and even then he was incapable of speech. All he could think was, _So that's what it feels like._

Charlie was still inside him, still above him, looking down with such an expression of astonishment that they must be mirroring each other's thoughts. Then Charlie's arms started to shake, and he withdrew, letting himself fall to one side, never taking his eyes off Rory. 

Rory bit down a cry of protest as Charlie left his body. He was sore there, a little, now that he was coming down from the endorphin high, but he felt so empty without Charlie's cock inside his body. He wanted it back, wanted to feel that sense of fulfilment, of completion. 

He could understand now, as he never could before, how Charlie could have begged for it, even when they weren't exactly lovers, when it was still a transaction for money, when Rory had taken every opportunity to fuck him raw. Nothing else in the world felt like this. 

He rolled so that he was facing Charlie, and they lay side by side, looking into each other's eyes. Neither of them spoke, as though they didn't want to break the spell that surrounded them. Charlie's hand came up and cupped Rory's cheek, a gesture of such tenderness that it almost broke him then and there. He had to close his eyes and get a grip on himself before he did something stupid, like cry, but he pressed his cheek into Charlie's hand. He loved Charlie so much it hurt, even if he could never say it. 

A vague sense of unease crept over him. Something he'd said ... something he'd said out loud while Charlie had been fucking him. The unease solidified into a nauseating realisation of what he'd let slip in the heat of the moment. He dropped his head onto the pillow. 

Maybe he was safe. Maybe Charlie hadn't heard. 

~~~~~ 

He woke in darkness - he didn't know what time it was, only that several hours must have passed. The room was cool, and Charlie felt like the world's best life-size hot water bottle, curled up beside him. His body ached in unaccustomed places, and he wondered how on earth men could do that more than once a week, no matter how good it was at the time. He supposed they must grow used to it. Charlie had never complained, anyway - not that Rory had given him much opportunity, not at the start of it, at least. 

He got up, careful not to wake Charlie, and padded over to the window. He remembered when Charlie had stood here, back in the summer, and felt a pang of remorse for the off-hand way he had treated Charlie's pain, now he knew how lonely it could be. Only it was winter now, and he was shivering, in spite of the central heating, and he really should have put on a dressing gown before coming over here. 

"What's wrong?" asked Charlie behind him, his arms sliding around Rory's waist and his chest pressing up against Rory's back. So warm ... Charlie was always so warm, and it was all Rory could do not to lean back into that blessed heat and let Charlie take his weight and his troubles. But that wasn't Rory's way. 

"Nothing," he whispered. 

"Just admiring the view?" 

"Just thinking." 

Charlie nuzzled the back of his neck, and Rory felt torn between pulling away and pulling Charlie closer. It did feel good, having Charlie at his back, holding him firmly, but he didn't really want to analyse why it felt so good. He settled for standing quite still, like a statue, waiting for Charlie to speak again. 

"Are you sore?" 

"No. Well, a little." 

"I'm sorry." Charlie replied immediately. 

"It's OK." 

"I didn't mean to hurt you." 

"It's not that bad. And I asked for it." 

"Do you regret it? You don't have to do it again, not if you don't want to." 

"I'm all right. Stop fussing." 

There was a long pause, then Charlie spoke again, a little hesitantly. "Look, sometimes, when people are in bed, they say things that ... well, they get carried away. Stuff you say at night ... it doesn't always mean the same thing in the light of day. That can be OK, though. As long as it's understood." 

Oh, bugger. Charlie had heard, then. And now Rory felt even worse because Charlie was offering him a way out. "I didn't mean it," he said, almost as a reflex, and then cursed again as Charlie froze, and he realised that he'd just made it ten times worse instead of better. 

"Are you saying you _don't_ love me?" 

"I ... I don't know." 

He felt Charlie's intake of breath, felt him draw away slightly, collecting himself, drawing back all the warmth and love and tenderness that he'd wrapped around Rory. It hurt. Gods, it hurt, and Rory had a sudden revelation of the pain Charlie must have felt every time Rory had turned him away, but he still couldn't bring himself to say the words. He couldn't. Not even to Charlie. He just couldn't admit it, couldn't give Charlie that much power over him. 

He felt Charlie's arms unclasp from around his waist, felt the cool breath of air at his back as Charlie's body retreated, and he knew, he knew that he had hurt Charlie worse than if he'd punched him in the guts. 

Charlie took a deep breath and said, "It's OK, Rory. I - I didn't really expect you to feel the same way about me, you know. I just thought, we spend so much time together, and then you were happy to get tested, and then tonight you offered ... I just thought it meant more than it did." 

Rory shook his head, but stayed facing the window. He could have kicked himself for hurting the boy, but how could he explain the way he felt? How could he explain that he loved Charlie but didn't want to give Charlie the power of knowing it? "It’s not that," he managed to say. "I mean, it is a bit, but not all of it." 

"I don't understand." 

Rory shrugged. "Not sure I even understand myself." His fists were clenched tightly and he thumped the window sill, furious that he couldn't find the right words. "I'm nae good wi' words," he forced out. "No' wi' this ... f-feelings shite." He cursed silently as he heard his accent slip, and took a deep breath. "You know that. You always seem to know what you f-feel about things. I don't. Sometimes ... sometimes I dinnae ken how I feel about anything. 'Specially not th'important things." 

"Sometimes I don't know either. I just ... babble, I guess." 

Rory took another deep breath and turned around. Charlie was still standing there, looking confused and hurt and Rory felt an absolute prick for hurting him, and for not being able to explain himself. He took hold of Charlie's wrists and then slid his hands further up Charlie's arms, hoping that he wouldn't pull away. "I cannae explain. It's all wrong, I cannae talk about this." 

"It's OK to be scared." 

"I'm not scared." And that was a flat lie, but it hardly mattered since Charlie didn't believe him anyway. 

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to." 

"Don't want to ...have to. But I never have before. I dinnae ken how." Rory pulled Charlie's hand behind him and then wrapped his own hands around Charlie's waist. "I ..." Oh, God this was so difficult. He couldn't look at Charlie while he was saying it, that would just be too much, so he turned his head and rested it on Charlie's shoulder, whispering into his ear, so quietly that the fates themselves would never hear. 

He couldn't say it aloud ... but he couldn't not say it either. He had to sort this out before Charlie gave up and walked out. He just wished he knew how. He was terrible with words - his own words, anyway. He wished he could just show Charlie how deeply he'd come to care for him, how much the boy meant to him. 

Perhaps he could. He'd done it back in September, after all, outside the pub. He could do that again now - he could show Charlie, and Charlie ... well, he hoped that Charlie would understand. With this thought in his head, Rory nuzzled Charlie's neck, working his way up to the jaw in soft kisses. He could feel Charlie's confusion, and didn't blame him - God, if any girl had blown hot and cold on him like this he'd have thrown her out on her arse long ago. 

He straightened up, looked Charlie directly in the eyes, cupped his cheeks and drew him in slowly for a kiss. 

He loved kissing Charlie. He loved the feeling of mouth on mouth, the sensuous slide of tongue on tongue, the sweet sensation of being filled, being probed, being searched … he could never get enough of it. He loved the sensation of Charlie's breath on his skin, the fleeting touches of nose and chin on his cheeks, Charlie's hands moving over any part of Rory's body he could reach. 

He loved fucking Charlie too - he'd never get tired of that, not ever - but there was something so different about kissing, something so intimate, something that matched what he felt for Charlie, that he'd never felt for anyone before or since. 

"I love you," whispered Charlie, hugging him and nuzzling against his neck. "I don't care if you don't love me back, I love you." 

Suddenly, Rory couldn't take it any more - couldn't take the searing honesty of Charlie's adoration, the burden of being loved unconditionally even though he'd hurt Charlie over and over again, and to his horror he heard himself saying, "I love you, too." He was just glad that he was looking over Charlie's shoulder and couldn't see his face. He couldn't have coped with that. 

Charlie stilled. "You mean that? Really?" he whispered. 

Rory nodded, and for good measure, he said it again. "I love you, Charlie." 

Charlie straightened up and looked at him. Rory tried to keep his gaze fixed on the wall beyond, but Charlie's hand turned his head gently and their eyes met. Charlie looked as if he didn't quite believe him, and Rory felt even worse. 

"Say it to my face. You owe me that much." 

Rory closed his eyes for a moment. He didn’t want to say it again - it would change everything - but in some strange way, he understood. He did owe it to Charlie to be honest with him. It was just that it felt as if he was about to jump off a cliff, and he wasn't sure that he'd survive the fall. 

He took a deep breath, looked at Charlie and said, "I love you." 

To his relief, Charlie didn't squeal or jump up and down or laugh at him. He simply said, "I love you, too," and Rory could see tears in his eyes. He had a sudden vision of Charlie throwing himself over that cliff first, just so he could be there to catch Rory, and that did it, he felt himself tearing up as well and hurriedly pulled Charlie into a hug so that he wouldn't see. 

Charlie's arms tightened around him. They stood like that for some time, quiet and close, until Rory started to feel cold in spite of Charlie's heat. 

"Come on, we'd better get back to bed," he whispered. 

Charlie straightened up and they made their way back to the bed. Charlie reached out for him as soon as they got in, and they snuggled down together, Rory on his back and Charlie on top of him. 

Charlie fell asleep almost immediately, but Rory lay awake for nearly an hour. The world had changed for him tonight, and he was never going to be the same again. 

  
**2.3 - The Way of the World**

_Saturday 12 February 2000_

Perhaps in reaction to the fact that they'd spent almost all the previous weekend in bed, Charlie wanted to go out on the town with Rory. Rory thought that this was a bad idea and said so. 

Charlie wasn't impressed. "Look, I'm not asking you to snog in public. All I want is for us to go out and have a drink and maybe dance a bit." 

"We can have a drink here. Or at that pub in Bury. We don't have go to fucking Canal Street." 

"We can't dance in the pub." 

"I'm not dancing with you." 

"Why not?" 

"Because I'm not." 

"Please?" 

Charlie leaned in and smiled winningly at him, but Rory simply felt annoyed. Why the hell did Charlie have to keep pushing him? Ever since that moment a week ago when he'd let slip those three terrifiying words, Charlie had been pushing him harder and harder. He knew it had been a mistake - knew it the minute he'd done it. A weakness had been exposed, and he didn't like that. Weakness meant danger. Weakness meant that his father might possibly be right about him, and he couldn't face that thought, not now, not ever. He wanted desperately to go back to the safe little world they'd been in before, but Charlie wouldn't let him. 

"Look," Charlie was still trying, "why don't we just go for a drink. I won't make you dance, I promise. But I want to go out with my boyfriend somewhere that being gay isn't an issue. 

"It's always an issue. Whether you see it or not, it's always an issue." 

"It doesn't have to be." 

"I know that. But it is, and it's going to be an issue for at least another ten years, so stop trying to ignore it." 

Charlie sighed and dropped his head onto Rory 's shoulder. "If I promise to behave, will you come out with me tonight? Please?" 

It was no use. Rory might be as tough as nails with everyone else, but there was something about Charlie - especially when he dropped his bravado and let Rory see the vulnerable, anxious boy inside - that made it impossible for Rory to be that harsh with him. 

"All right, we'll go out tonight. But no dancing, ye ken?" 

Charlie smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "No dancing. Right." 

Yeah, right. 

~~~~~ 

The club was already lively when Charlie and Rory arrived, and Rory gritted his teeth as they pushed their way through the crowd to the bar. The music was overwhelming - the constant thump-thump-thump of the bass seemed to make the whole building vibrate, and he winced as a particularly loud chorus assaulted his ears. 

Charlie tried to put an arm around his waist but Rory pulled back. 

"What?" Charlie asked, in annoyance. 

"Not in public." 

"I said I wouldn't make you dance. There was nothing about not touching you." 

"Charlie ..." 

"Don't you 'Charlie' me. Why don't you ever let me touch you?" 

Rory looked uncomfortable but didn't answer. 

"Are you ashamed of me or something?" 

"No, it's not that, it just..." 

"It's just what? You don't want people to think you're gay? 

Rory was silent. 

"That's it, isn’t it?" demanded Charlie. "Fuck it all, Rory! You're in a gay bar, with your boyfriend, perving on other gay men, in case you hadn't noticed. What part of that is 'not gay'?" 

"Look, this was a bad idea. Let's go." 

"I don't want to go. I want to be with you. I want to hold you and not care if someone sees us. I want to dance with you." 

"I'm not fucking dancing with you!" 

"Fine, just go then. Go back to your safe fucking flat and your safe fucking life and forget about me!" 

"Don't be so stupid." 

"Don't be so fucking afraid then." 

"I'm nae f-fuckin' f-feart!" 

"Then why won't you let me touch you? "Why does everything in your life have to be such a fucking secret?" 

"L-look, you don't know what it was l-like, growing up in the east end of Glasgow. It's not like your nice middle-class suburbs - anyone who was different was a target. Anyone who showed a weakness was a target. I saw people get bashed because they were gay. I even joined in, sometimes." 

"I know that, but you're not in Glasgow now. This is Manchester. We're in a gay-friendly club. No one's going to beat you up in here because you have a boyfriend." 

"But they'll know for the future. They've seen my face. Some of them know who I am." 

"Do you honestly think they're going to think you less of a hard bastard just because you're gay?" 

"They'd better not." 

"Right. So what's the problem then?" 

Rory shrugged. "It's just ..." 

Charlie looked sad and angry, and his voice was getting a touch hysterical. "You just don't love me, do you? You're fine with shagging me, but that's all I am to you, right? I'm just a shag and you don't want to be seen in public with me." 

"No!" Rory grabbed hold of his arm and lulled him closer. "Look, Charlie, I do lov- ... well, I -" he hesitated, then forced himself on, albeit in a much lower voice. "I do love you, Charlie, it's just that I don't feel comfortable with all this touchy-feely shite in public. You know that. We’ve discussed it." 

"You said you love me. In public." 

"Well, don't shout it out loud, for fuck's sake." He felt his face turning red and scowled at Charlie, who was grinning now, and bouncing on the soles of his feet, poised to do something embarrassing, like hug him. "You're not going to go all mushy on me, are you?" 

Charlie smiled. "Maybe." 

Rory swallowed. "Not here." _Please, not here._

"Where, then?" Charlie leaned in, undeterred. 

"Home." At least he could be sure that they were behind locked doors and drawn curtains. 

"You'll let me get all emo and mushy at home?" 

_Oh, fuck, what have I done?_ "Yeah. All right. But not when we have visitors." 

Charlie beamed at him. "Let's go." 

"Now? We just got here." 

"But my boyfriend just said he loved me and I want to do all sorts of wicked things to him." 

Rory shook his head as he followed Charlie out of the club. Sometimes he just didn’t understand his boyfriend at all. 

  
_Early February 2000_

Charlie was still blazing with anger when he reached the office. He stormed into the inner office, not even pausing to greet Chris, and stood in the middle of the room, like a demon apparition. 

"Do you know what those fuckers at the company told me? They said I'm not allowed to say I'm gay. I'm not allowed to say I've got a boyfriend." 

Rory looked up from the papers he was reading. "I know. Paul rang me," he said acidly. 

"He rang _you?_ What for?" 

"He told me to use what little influence I had to stop you doing something irredeemably stupid, like announcing to the world that you're gay." 

"I don't fucking believe it!" 

"Believe it, all right. Do you want the company to rip up the contract before you've gone anywhere?" 

"They can't do that!" 

"Oh yes, they can. What else did you expect?" Rory set his papers down and pushed them to one side with a sigh. It was clear that he wasn't going to get any more work done this afternoon. 

"Well, I didn't expect them to tell me how I can live my life! I didn't expect some sort of nineteen-forties morality clause! I mean, it's not as if it's illegal anymore. There are loads of people in the music industry who are gay - what's the big deal?" 

"The deal is money. It always has been." 

"Money!" Charlie snorted. 

"Money. You're a commodity and the market is teenage girls. You don't have to be Einstein to work out what comes next." 

"And what about the music?" 

Rory rubbed his eyes. This was not going to be easy. He looked at his watch - it was after five, and there was nothing urgent that needed doing. He might as well take Charlie home and try to talk some sense into him. 

"Come on," he said, getting up. "Let's go home and I'll try and explain what Paul told me - what he would have told you if you hadn't stormed out in a huff." He didn't touch Charlie - the light outside was failing and anyone could look in and see them - but he shepherded him out of the inner office. 

"I'm away, now," he nodded to the imperturbable Chris. "I'll be back tomorrow." 

"Aye," was the laconic reply. 

Charlie accompanied him in sullen silence all the way down to the carpark. There, Rory risked putting his arms around him and kissing his cheek. "It's going to be all right." 

Charlie tried to shrug him off, but half-heartedly and ineffectively. He wouldn't meet Rory's gaze, though, until Rory took his chin and tilted his face up. "It will be all right, Charlie. It's not the end of the world. Come on, get into the car and we'll go home. I'll ring for a curry and we'll sit and talk about it." 

"Don't want to talk about it." 

"Then you can sit and listen while I talk about it." 

Charlie got into the car and was silent on the way home. 

Once inside the flat, with dinner on the way, and with a cup of coffee in his hands, Rory tried again. He looked at Charlie, who was standing by the stereo and said, "Paul told me it's a standard clause - you can't do anything that could affect the marketability of the group, not if you want to stay on the label." 

"But I just don't see why it's such a big deal! I mean, there are plenty of gays out there in the music business." 

"And none of them came out until their careers were well and truly established." 

"That's not true!" 

"Isn’t it?" 

"Well..." Charlie thought about that. "All right, so I can't think of any at the moment. But I don't see why that has to apply to me. I'm gay - the band knows I'm gay - my family knows I'm gay - the label knows I'm gay. Why is it such a big deal? If I don't mind the rest of the world knowing, why should they?" 

"Because they want to make a lot of money out of the band." 

"They can do that with the records." 

"That's only a small part of it." Now, in the safety of the flat, with curtains drawn and prying eyes excluded, Rory went to his lover and took him in his arms. "Think about it: music only sells records. People buy one copy of any given record, and there's a limit to what you can put out in one year. You can be in twenty magazines for each record release, and that's where the big money comes from - magazines and the advertisements they carry. And they don't sell music, they sell sex, or the possibility of it. If you want to make money, you have to be marketable." 

"You make it sound like prostitution." 

"And what did you think it was? Respect and admiration?" He ran a hand soothingly down Charlie's back. "The music will get you that, but the company wants money, and to get it they have to market you, put you on the cover of Smash Hits and Teen Dream, and that means presenting you as available - straight and available." 

"I don't want to be straight and available!" 

Rory smiled and kissed Charlie's neck. "I don't want you to be straight or available either. I quite like you being gay and committed." 

Charlie nuzzled back. "I like being gay and committed, too. And I don't understand why I can't say so. It's not as if I'm the lead - Liam's going to get all the pin-up shots anyway, he's the pretty boy." 

"You're pretty." 

"Fuck off!" He grinned and gave Rory a playful shove. "I'm good-looking in an extremely rugged and manly way." 

Rory muttered something that might have sounded a bit like "rugged as a marshmallow", but if Charlie heard it he ignored it. 

"Anyway, I'm not ashamed of being gay," he said, belligerently. "I don't see why I can't talk about it if I want to." 

"This from the man who was terrified about telling his own family less than three months ago." 

Charlie looked uncomfortable, but didn't say anything. 

Rory took a deep breath and tried again. "Look, Charlie, you know I'm happy being with you, but I don't exactly go out of my way to advertise it. I'm not going to be wearing pink ribbons or marching down Portland Street in the next Gay Pride festival. My private life is my own, and that's the way I like it." He gave Charlie a kiss under the ear. "It wasn't easy, being gay, where I grew up. Still isn't. Being gay means being a target, getting bashed, getting killed." 

"But that makes it even more important!" Charlie interrupted. "If people know how - how _ordinary_ gays and lesbians can be, then they won't be so afraid of them. If DriveShaft has a band member who's gay and none of them care about it, then surely that's a positive message to everyone - gay or straight." 

"In an ideal world, love. Maybe." 

Charlie tightened his arms around Rory. "I don't want to lie, Rory. I don't want to have to say all that cheesy stuff like 'Yes I want to find a girl and settle down.' It's all crap." 

"So don't lie." 

"But I told you..." 

Rory's eyes glinted. He pushed Charlie over to the sofa and sat him down. "Play it like a game. Don't lie, and don't say straight out that you're gay. Try and answer the questions truthfully, but in a way that they'll misinterpret what you're saying." 

"You mean like the gender game - 'I really like them' - that sort of thing?" 

"That's part of it." 

"So what's the rest?" 

"You talk around things, missing some bits of the question, adding misleading words, distracting the interviewer with something else. Lots of ways you can do it." 

"Sounds complicated." 

"Not if you keep it simple. Say I ask you if you have a girlfriend. What do you answer?" 

"I say no." 

"Say 'No I don't have a girlfriend'." 

"No, I don't have a girlfriend, I have a mean Scottish bastard of a boyfriend and he'll maim any skank whore who tries to get into my jeans." 

Rory laughed and gave Charlie a smacking kiss on the cheek. "Exactly - you say the first bit, and inside your head you're thinking the rest of it. And you'd better believe it, too." 

"I do. What if they ask me if I'm looking for a girlfriend?" 

"Well, what would you say? Are you looking for a girlfriend?" 

"No." 

"No what?" 

"What?" 

"You can't just say no. You have to give them a plausible reason for saying no. Like - 'Not at the moment. It's a really busy time for the band and it's difficult to get out and meet people'. See - it implies that you'd just love to be out there clubbing and meeting girls, but you just don't have the time. It's a legitimate excuse, so they won't be tempted to go after more information." 

"I see," said Charlie, his eyes lighting up. "I think I get it. Ask me another one." 

"What sort of features do you look for in a girlfriend?" 

"Well, my ideal partner -" he smiled slyly at Rory "- is someone I can have a laugh with, someone I can go out with and have fun with, someone I can talk to. I don't necessarily look for a particular hair colour or a neat figure - though they're fine, too. It's what inside that counts." 

"Very good." Rory kissed him as a reward. 

"And someone who has a fantastic cock and can shag me rotten every night of the week." 

"Let's just ignore that last bit, shall we?" Rory chided, but he couldn't help smiling. 

"Ignore your cock? Not on your life." Charlie reached for Rory's groin and Rory slapped his hand away. 

"Behave yourself. This is a serious interview." 

"Can I have another kiss first?" 

Rory kissed him, and it was with a little difficulty that he managed to extract himself a few minutes later. "Mmm. That's enough for now. We have an interview to finish." 

"Can we make this the last question? I really want to shag you now." 

"No. You need more practice. Next question: would you like to get married and settle down?" 

"How can I answer that? There's no fucking way I'm getting married." 

"But what if gay marriage were legal?" 

Charlie looked up. "Like it's going to be in Holland?" 

"Yes. If gay marriage were legal in the UK, would you ever think of getting married and settling down?" 

"Well, I don't know... I guess I haven't really thought about it." He paused, looking down at the sofa. "Hmm... I think - I think I'd like to get married one day. I guess we all believe that the right person is out there - it's just a question of finding them." 

"Perfect." Rory smiled. "And one last one: Would you like to have children?" 

"Yes," Charlie whispered, clutching Rory's arm, his eyes widening in surprise at his own reaction. "I want children. I want a family." 

Rory's arm went around him and they sat in silence for a minute. "Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." He sighed, and pulled Charlie's head down to rest on his shoulder. "I guess that's the end of the interview." 

"It's OK," mumbled Charlie, his face buried deep in Rory's shoulder. It was another minute or so before he could sit up, and he was still visibly upset, his face pale and eyes wide. "Sorry. I just didn't realise... I guess when I found I was gay I stopped thinking about having children - I thought it would never happen." 

"You never know. One day." 

"It's weird, you know, to think it might be possible. Even if we can only adopt, it would be wonderful to have a family." 

"You'll make a great father." 

"So will you." 

They kissed, gently at first, soothing and comforting, then with more passion. Rory was starting to run his hands over Charlie's buttocks when the buzzer rang, and Charlie pulled himself away, leaving Rory aroused and wanting. 

"Charlie..." 

"I'll get it. I guess I owe you one." He picked up his wallet, but before leaving the room, he looked back at Rory, his expression deadly serious. "I'll tell you something, though." 

"What?" 

"I'm coming out with the third album. I figure that if we haven't made it by then, we never will. So, contract or no contract, when the third album comes out I'm telling people I'm gay." 

Rory sighed, and wondered how he was going to deal with _that_ when the time came. 

  
**2.4 - Flavour of the Month**

_Early March 2000_

Because the band's second single, "You All Everybody", remained at No 1 on the UK charts - or perhaps in spite of it - the record company decided that the band needed a high-profile tour launch, and so they had organised a press party at the coolest club in Manchester. Press releases and invitations had been sent out, and interest was running high. 

It was an added bonus that "You All Everybody" had spent the last two weeks at number 1 in the US, while it was still no 1 in the UK. DriveShaft was the Next Big Thing, the Flavour of the Month, the rising star of the British music scene and everyone, but everyone, wanted to be at that party. 

Well ... almost everyone. 

~~~~~ 

It seemed like they'd been arguing for years. Charlie wanted Rory to go to the tour launch party; Rory didn't want to go to any function where nosy fans and photographers would be lying in wait. He knew he had difficulty keeping his eyes off Charlie at the best of times; he didn't want to run the risk of being caught on film ogling his boyfriend's arse. And Charlie was even worse. 

"You should come along." 

"I'll stay here. You can come over afterwards. Or we can meet somewhere after the party." 

"It's going to go on all night." 

"You don't have to stay there all nght, though." 

"It'll feel like forever if you're not there." 

"You'll survive." 

"Come on. Please?" 

"No." 

"Come on, you'll enjoy it." 

"Enjoy watching half of Manchester fawn all over you?" 

"They'll be fawning over Liam, not me. I'll be lonely." 

"I doubt it." 

"Or maybe there'll be a whole lot of girls trying to get into my pants." 

Rory smiled. That had to be Charlie's lamest attempt yet. "Well, they'll be disappointed, won't they, hmm? You don't do girls." 

"I might do boys." 

Rory stifled a growl in his throat. Charlie wasn't really going to do that ... he was just trying to get a reaction. "You'd better not." He tried to make a joke of it, but he knew he'd failed. He never joked about Charlie. 

Charlie went pale, but rallied. "I won't if you come with me." 

"No." 

"Fuck it, Rory, I want you there!" 

"I'm not going." 

"You just don't want to be seen with me." 

"It's not that." 

"It is. You don't want anyone to guess you're gay." 

"It's got nothing to do with that!" 

"It's got everything to do with that, and you know it!" 

"I'm not going to that fucking party and that's final!" He raised his hand, about to punch Charlie in the face, but something in Charlie's eyes stopped him. He wasn't his father. He wasn't going to start hitting his own family members just because they didn't agree with him. 

He turned around and headed out, knowing he had to work out his anger elsewhere, knowning he had be get out of the flat until he was safe to be in company again. 

"I hate you!" Charlie yelled behind him as Rory slammed the door, effectively ending the argument. 

Rory headed out blindly, not even caring which direction he went, just knowing that he had to get away. It was the first time they'd had a serious argument since they'd become lovers, back in September, and he was shaken by how easy it would have been to hit Charlie, to punch him and kick him until he gave in. He wasn't going to do that. He wasn't going to become like his father, taking his frustrations out on those closest to him. He wasn't going to do that. 

~~~~~ 

It was well over an hour later that Rory walked back in and almost tripped over Charlie, who was sitting on the floor just inside the door, his expression miserable as he fingered the twisted casing of his mobile phone. 

"What's wrong?" asked Rory, his anger forgotten as he dropped to floor beside Charlie 

Charlie held up the pieces, mutely, but didn't meet Rory's eyes. 

"Was that your phone?" 

Charlie nodded. "Liam called me and I lost my temper. Sorry." 

"Threw it at the wall, eh? Don’t worry, you can get another." 

"I know, it's just that ... oh, this is so fucking girly ... it's just that you gave it to me. It was the very first thing you ever gave me." He bit his lip, turning his face away. "Told you it was stupid." 

Rory put his arms around his lover and wriggled a bit until he had Charlie held close against him. "You're a sentimental wee numptie, Charlie Pace. But I'll get you another one." He squeezed Charlie's shoulders. "I'll get you a better one. One that works in America as well, so you can call me while you're away. How about that?" 

Charlie simply buried his head in Rory's shoulder. Rory let him rest there for a few seconds, then pulled back a little and tipped Charlie's head up, waiting until Charlie met his gaze. 

"Charlie. I know was I angry, but I'm not now. And I'm not angry about the phone. It was a cheap piece of crap and I should have got you a better one ages ago. All right?" 

Charlie nodded again, looking a bit more optimistic. Rory's hand slid around to Charlie's neck, and drew him in for a kiss, tender and loving and forgiving. 

"I love you," Charlie murmured when they parted for a moment, before leaning forward once more. 

"I might be a wee bit fond of you myself," he admitted. 

They sat entwined on the carpet, their kisses becoming deeper and more passionate, until Rory suddenly got to his feet and tried to pull Charlie up. "Bedroom, now. I want to ravish you." 

"Ravish me right here. There's lube behind the cushions." 

"Fuck, no!" retorted Rory. "I'm not giving myself carpet burns, not when there's a nice comfortable bed just up the stairs." 

Charlie laughed, and they stumbled up the stairs, still kissing. As soon as they got to the bedroom Rory threw Charlie down on the bed and crawled over him, his hands busy undoing buttons and zips. Charlie lifted his hips eagerly as Rory pulled his jeans off, and watched as Rory stripped his own clothes off before reaching for the lube. 

Charlie gave a low moan as Rory entered him. "I'm going to miss this," he muttered, pulling on Rory's buttocks so that his lover was as deep inside hiim as possible. "Don't want to leave you behind. Want you with me." 

_Stay with me,_ Rory wanted to say. _Stay with me and I'll look after you._ But he couldn't say that, he couldn't kill Charlie's career for his own selfish reasons. He had to be strong, for both of them, and so he kept his eyes fixed on Charlie's and concentrated on remembering the feel of him, the heat, the tightness, the way that Charlie's muscles contracted around him when he came. 

It was over far too soon, and Rory collapsed on the bed next to his lover, lying back and staring at the ceiling. He could hear Charlie panting beside him, could smell him - all sex and sweat and the faint residue of soap - and if he turned his head slightly he could see him, mussed and half-naked and looking like every single one of Rory's dreams come true. 

Charlie smiled at him and rolled over to be closer. "Sorry about losing my temper there," he said, resting his head on Rory's shoulder and letting his hands ruffle through the ruddy hair that covered Rory's chest. 

"It's all right." 

"I do love you." 

"I know." 

"It's just that I want to show you off, sometimes. You're my boyfriend and you're clever and good-looking and you have a great arse, and I want people to know that you're mine." 

"I know, love. But everyone's going to be looking at you and anyone you're with, and I'm just not happy with that level of scrutiny. I can't afford to get my photo in the papers. You know that." 

"I know. I hate it, but I know." 

Rory ran his fingers through Charlie's hair, and hoped that this would be the end of the argument. 

He was wrong, of course. 

  
_Sunday 19th March_

Rory felt like hitting his head against the wall. "I'm still not going." 

"Fuck it, Rory! I _want_ you to be there," said Charlie. 

"You'll survive without me." 

"It won't be any fun without you." 

"It's not supposed to be fun." 

"It's a party. Of course it's supposed to be fun! Please?" Charlie looked at his lover with an anxious, pleading, slightly distressed expression on his face, and Rory felt himself wavering. He had to be firm. 

"Look, Charlie, it's a work function. It's publicity for Rhythm Records. They're trying to sell you. It's not about having a good time, it's about getting column inches and sound bytes and pictures on the gossip pages. The last thing they want is pictures of you with your boyfriend." 

"I promise I won't snog you in front of any cameras." 

"Can you promise not to look at me? Your mother worked it out after your party and you didn't even touch me then." 

"That's different. Besides, she already knew I was gay - she just hadn't told me." 

"Charlie ..." 

"Oh, all right. I promise I won't look at you like I want you to bend me over the nearest sofa. Even if I'm thinking it." 

Rory couldn't help smiling at that - but he noted Charlie's teasing, mischievous grin and wondered what was up his sleeve. Suspicious, he peeked over Charlie's shoulder and saw that he'd crossed his fingers. He raised an eyebrow, brought both Charlie's arms around to the front and looked pointedly at the now-uncrossed fingers. "Now promise." 

Charlie sighed, pouted, then capitulated. "You'll come to the party if I promise?" 

"I still think it's a bad idea." 

"Please? What if I get Paul to give you a ticket? Then you don't have to say you're my guest." 

Rory sighed. He knew he'd been manipulated into this, but somehow he couldn't be as angry with Charlie as he would be with anyone else who tried it. "I'll come as Paul's guest, but only if you promise to behave. Without crossing your fingers." 

"Really?" 

"Really. But you have to promise. And you have to mean it." 

Charlie gave a heavy sigh. "All right. I promise I won't look at you, or touch you, or speak to you in any way that might be taken to indicate you're my boyfriend. Satisified?" 

"I'm satisfied." Rory kissed him, happy that Charlie was being sensible for once and was going to behave. Charlie kissed him back, and very soon Rory proved that he wasn't averse to bending Charlie over a sofa as long as no one was watching. 

  
_Thursday 23rd March_

Rory couldn't believe how many people were here. He knew the band was suddenly popular, but he simply hadn't counted on several hundred people turning up just to stand outside and watch the people going in. He was glad that he'd insisted on travelling separately, since there was no way that his arrival with Charlie would have gone unnoticed. He was also glad that he'd decided against wearing a kilt - Charlie had begged him, but it would draw too much attention. His aim this evening was to be as anonymous as possible, and he could only do that by blending into the background. 

As it happened, his caution was justified even before he got through the entrance, as he recognised the doorman - a rival firm, but the relationship was amicable. 

"Evening, McManus. What brings you along here?" 

"Evening, Mitchell. Would you believe I'm invited?" He produced his invitation card and watched as Mitchell found his name on the list and ticked it off. 

"Going up in the world, eh?" Mitchell quizzed him. "You a friend of the band?" 

Rory laughed derisively. "Do I look like I hang around with rock stars? I got the invite from one of the Rhythm Record guys. We go to the same karate class." 

"Is that right? It's good to have friends in high places." 

"It is, indeed." He nodded to Mitchell and proceeded into the club. 

The noise was already loud, from the background music and the buzzing of a hundred voices. The lighting was low, apart from the stage area, which was brightly-lit, and had a backdrop of tiled DriveShaft posters. Rory looked at the poster and saw - as was to be expected - that Liam and Sinjin were front and centre, with Pat and Charlie off to the sides. Charlie had muttered about it, but hadn't really expected anything else. The lead singer and lead guitarist were always in the middle. It was a basic rule of life. 

Paul had told him that the band would come out at nine, after having done an interview and photoshoot for a national music magazine. Rory wondered how it was going. They were still fairly inexperienced at interviews, but Paul had promised to stay in the room and make sure that the reporter didn't stray into areas that might embarrass everyone. 

He made his way to the bar and got himself a whisky before turning back to the crowd. After only a couple of minutes he was approached by a pretty brunette, who looked familiar. "Hi, you're Rory, aren't you?" she asked with a smile. "I'm Melissa." 

Ah, now he remembered. "Pat's new girlfriend." 

"That's right." She extended her hand and Rory shook it. 

"It's all a bit overwhelming, isn't it?" she gestured to the crowd, which was still growing around them. 

"Aye. Hard to believe that a few months ago they were scrambling to get anyone to listen to them." 

She leaned in a bit closer and said, in as much of an undertone as she could achieve and still be heard, "I hope you don't mind, but Pat's told me about you and Charlie." 

Rory frowned - he did mind, as a matter of fact, but there was nothing he could do about it now. 

Melissa hurried on. "It's OK, I won't let the cat out of the bag. I just thought you ought to know that he told me." 

Rory tried to make the best of it. "Ah well, you were bound to find out sooner or later if you hang around with the band. Just keep it quiet, though. The label doesn't want it getting out." 

"I know. So stupid. I can't imagine that anyone would really care. Not these days." 

"Rhythm Records does, and they're the ones who hold the contract. So just keep an eye on what you're saying, lassie." 

Melissa giggled at being called 'lassie', and Rory joined in. They were startled by a flash going off close to them, and realised that one of the press photographers caught them both laughing. Rory was only annoyed for a moment - there would be hundreds of photos taken tonight, and if by chance this once should be published, it wouldn't do any harm, as long as Pat was clued in. 

Paul appeared a minute or so after that, looking somewhat harrassed, and hailed a passing waiter, ordering a double vodka. 

"Everything all right in there?" asked Rory. Paul didn't usually order doubles, and he wondered if something had gone wrong. 

Paul grimaced. "How the fuck do you put up with them?" 

It didn't take a genius to work out who he meant, and Rory answered him bluntly. "Charlie's OK on his own, and I avoid Liam as much as possible." 

"I wish I could. The two of them nearly started World War Three in there." 

"Any bones broken?" 

"No, thank goodness." 

"They were holding back, then. You should be grateful." 

Paul shuddered. "I'd heard Oasis was bad to deal with, but these two ..." he grabbed the drink that appeared in front of him and downed it in one gulp. "Get me another," he ordered, and the waiter scurried off. 

"Don't let them get to you, " Rory advised. "Keep them apart as long as you can and leave the rest to fate." 

Paul nodded, though he didn’t seem very confident. "Thank God I don't have to baby-sit them on the tour. I'd be slashing my wrists inside a week." 

"Who does?" 

"We've hired managers for the US tour. Very experienced, good reports. Still working on managers for the European leg but that's a bit more complicated, of course." 

"Why?" asked Melissa. 

"Languages, currency, cultural issues." 

"I thought everyone spoke English over there?" she asked. 

"A lot do, but enough don't that it can make things difficult. Especially in the smaller countries. And I can't wait until the euro's introduced - it'll make our life a lot easier." 

"Can't you do transactions in euros already?" Rory was sure that had started earlier in the year. 

"Electronically. But we still need to deal in cash for catering and incidentals. Makes it tough a different currency every couple of days." 

An agitated young woman came up and caught Paul's arm, muttering something into his ear. Paul gave a long-suffering sigh. "Excuse me, got to go back and keep the peace." 

"Do you want me to go in there?" Rory offered. He really didn't want to hear whatever argument was underway, but he knew that Charlie would settle down and Liam would hold his tongue if he were to walk in. 

"No, it's no bother," Paul reassured him, "and it's my job anyway." He grabbed his new drink, tossed it down his throat and disappeared into the back rooms. 

"Sounds like it's not all fun and games, being a record label manager," Melissa stated with a knowing smile. 

"Apparently not." 

"Do they always fight? Liam and Charlie, I mean." 

"Only when they're in the same room." 

"Pat says they've been fighting since they were kids. He says that Charlie broke Liam's arm last year." 

Oops - that was dangerous ground. "It was an accident," he said, hurriedly. "They were just larking about." Damn Pat and his big mouth! He was going to have to have words with the lad before too much longer. They were lucky that Pat didn’t know about the agreement they'd made last summer, or it would be in the papers before long, and that would be a right sodding disaster for everyone. 

There was a stir from the stage area, and cameras started flashing as first Malcolm Green, the label's president, and then Paul stepped up onto the stage. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the best event of the new millennium!" 

The crowd applauded loudly, though Rory rolled his eyes. He'd tried explaining to Charlie that the new millennium didn't actually start until 2001, but it was a lost cause. 

Green spoke for a few minutes, but there was nothing new, just the usual guff about how the band had been discovered and how they were now Britain's hottest musical export. There was, of course, the obligatory comparison with the Beatles, which Rory considered to be completely unwarranted - even Charlie thought it a bit much - and the not-obligatory-but-anticipated comparison with Oasis. 

Finally, as if realising that he was losing his audience, Green wound up his speech and announced, "And now, the guys you've all been waiting for - DriveShaft!" 

The crowd broke into applause as the band filed onto the stage: Sinjin first, cocky and grinning, then Liam, trying to hide his bad mood behind a smile that didn't reach his eyes; then Pat, looking a little uncomfortable; and lastly, Charlie, glowering magnificently. 

Rory smiled to himself. Paul might be looking grim, but privately Rory thought that a moody Charlie photographed very well, and he was looking forward to seeing the magazine coverage. He might even buy a copy or three if it looked really good. 

The band members posed for more photos, and then, at a gesture from Green, they moved down into the crowd to mingle and spread the glamour among the fans, well-wishers and hangers-on. 

It was a riotous celebration, and Rory was glad that he was able to keep in the background. He kept an eye on Charlie's progress, and allowed himself to smile at his boyfriend when eventually Charlie appeared at his side. The reponse he got from Charlie was both gratifying and alarming, since it involved a blinding smile and a warm hug. 

"Careful there!" he warned. 

Charlie seemed unfazed. "Don’t stress, I've been hugging _everyone_ tonight, so no one will notice." His eyes were dancing, as if to prove that Rory wasn't the only one capable of a little forward planning. 

"What happened to the 'not looking at me' part of your promise?" 

"Got replaced by the 'looking at everyone' bit. Much more fun." 

Rory shook his head. Yet again he'd been outmanoeuvred by Charlie and he didn't feel homicidal. He must be getting soft. 

A couple of girls approached them and simpered at Charlie until he said hello and agreed to sign autographs for them. 

Rory decided he'd go in search of more alcohol. Charlie joined him a couple of minutes later. 

"Are you running away from me?" 

"You were busy." 

"They were fans.I couldn't just ignore them." 

"I know." He did know. It was part of Charlie's job to be nice to his fans, even the annoying ones, and Rory would just have to learn to accept it. "Look, I may as well go. You're going to have to hang around for a while yet, and I'm just going to end up plastered if I stay here much longer." 

Charlie looked disappointed, but he nodded. "You're not really having much fun here, are you?" 

"No." 

"Can I come over to your place tomorrow then? After work? We can have the whole night to ourselves, just the two of us, and Saturday as well." 

"What about the band?" 

"We're all having the weekend off. But I promised Mum I'd be there for Sunday lunch, since it's the last one before we leave." 

"Aye, I know." The words came out a little more bitterly than Rory had intended, and Charlie looked contrite. 

"I'm sorry." 

Rory shook his head. "No point being sorry, lad. The band has to go on tour, I understand that. But we can have tomorrow and Saturday if you want. Just us." 

Charlie smiled at him - all open and loving - and Rory couldn't help but smile back, though he hoped fervently that no one was watching them. 

"I'll come over around seven then? Do you want me to cook?" 

"No, we'll get something delivered. Though if you want to cook on Saturday I wouldn't say no." 

Charlie nodded, eagerly. "I'll make you something really special." 

"I'll look forward to it." 

"Tomorrow at seven, then?" 

"No, I'll pick you up on my way home, about half past six. That will be quicker." 

"OK." 

Rory nodded, then set his glass down. "I'll be on my way then." 

Charlie nodded, the smile fading from his face, but to Rory's relief he didn't try to kiss or hug him. "Until tomorrow, then," he said, softly. 

"Tomorrow," repeated Rory. 

They stood there, just looking at each other for a few seconds, until Rory came to his senses and turned to go. No point in telling Charlie off for looking at him if he was doing the same thing. He forced himself to walk away from his lover and out through the door, wishing that Charlie had the sense not to follow him with his eyes, knowing that he didn't, and hoping that at least no one else was looking at either of them. 

  
**2.5 - A Protracted Farewell**

_Friday 24th March_

Rory picked Charlie up at the Paces at half past six, and by seven o'clock had him pinned up against the kitchen door, kissing him as if his life depended on it. Charlie's hands were around his buttocks, pulling him in close, and he shifted sightly, grinding their groins together and listening to Charlie moan. It was a sound he loved, and he moved again, smiling as he elicited exactly the same reaction. 

The sound of the doorbell broke them apart, and Rory stepped back, reluctantly, trying to regain some composure. Charlie leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed and his mouth open, looking dishevelled and delicious. Rory resisted the temptation to kiss him again and fumbled instead for his wallet. 

Once the food was laid out on the table he took advantage of a slightly clearer head to observe Charlie as he was eating. The boy had completely lost the worried, slightly pinched look he'd had back in the previous summer, when he'd been short on food and short on sleep and close to homeless, and Rory hoped that he would never look that way again. Now Charlie had filled out a little with good food and regular visits to the gym. His shoulders were getting broader and his muscles more defined, and Rory simply found him more and more attractive every day. 

As they got up from the table, Rory told himself that now was the time to ask Charlie the question he'd been wanting to ask for quite a while. "Look, when you get back, in the summer ... " he paused. _Come on, ye jessie,_ he told himself, _it's nae such a big deal._ He took a big breath and muttered, "I thought it might be a good idea for you to move in with me. Would save you having to find your own place when your sister gets back from Australia." 

"Really?" Charlie was taken aback by the question, looking at Rory as if he hadn't heard him aright. 

"Really." 

He needn't have worried. Charlie beamed at him and enveloped him in a tight hug, saying "You are the best boyfriend ever! I'd love to move in - I was actually going to suggest it myself when we got back." He leaned back just far enough to kiss Rory on the lips. "I want to sleep with you every night. Want to wake up with you every morning." 

"Me, too." Rory tasted the spices on Charlie's lips. He opened his mouth a little and felt Charlie's tongue pushing in, opening him up. He made no resistance - he was eager to take everything that his lover could give him - and leaned back against the table to give Charlie a more favourable angle. Charlie inched his way in between Rory's legs, and soon they were back where they had been when so cruelly interrupted by the delivery boy, bodies aligned and grinding against each other in increasingly frantic movements. 

To Rory's astonishment, it was Charlie who stepped back first, taking Rory's hand and pulling him towards the stairs. Rory cast an anxious glance at the debris left on the table, but was given no opportunity to clear up as he was inexorably dragged out of the kitchen and up to the bedroom. 

"You're eager tonight," he pointed out. 

Charlie grinned, his expression at once mischievous, mysterious and cunning. "Always eager for you, you know that. And if this is going to be our last weekend for three months, then I want to make the most of it." 

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be making the most of it." 

Charlie stopped at the doorway to Rory's bedroom - soon to be _their_ bedroom! - and kissed him again. "First you're going to shag me. Then I'm going to shag you. Then we're going to sleep for a while and then you're going to shag me again. After that we'll play it by ear." 

Rory closed his eyes. He wasn't sure he'd survive the weekend. "Maybe I should book an intensive care bed now," he said, in a mock-grumbling tone. 

"You won't need one, I promise. If you collapse I'll give you the kiss of life." 

Rory smiled. "Now that would certainly revive me." 

"Naturally." Charlie pushed Rory back against the doorjamb and proceeded to demonstrate how thoroughly stimulating his kisses could be. 

With an effort, Rory moved them both into the bedroom and they fell onto the bed, still entwined and still kissing. His hands began their now-familiar mission to disrobe Charlie as efficiently as possible, but he was hampered by the very deep and probing kiss that Charlie was giving him, and by the way Charlie had moved over to lie on top of him, pinning him down and wriggling until he was in the best position to apply pressure where it was most needed. 

"You're going to come in your jeans if you don't let me take them off," muttered Rory after another minute or two. 

"Wouldn't be the first time," countered Charlie, but he rolled over and quickly undid belt, button and zip. Rory knelt on the floor and pulled off the trainers and socks and then the jeans, noting with interest that his lover had gone commando. "Look, everything's in the wash, all right?" Charlie said, hurriedly, but Rory just laughed. 

"I'm not complaining - saves me a few more seconds. Take your shirt off." 

Charlie complied, while Rory quickly dropped his own trousers and unbuttoned his shirt. When they were both naked and Charlie had made himself comfortable in the centre of the bed, Rory crawled forward so that he was in his favourite position - directly over Charlie and looking down at him. There he stayed, almost motionless, just looking at Charlie's face, trying to memorise every line, every curve, every mole and freckle. This was the face of the man he loved, and every tiny blemish was precious to him. 

"What's wrong?" asked Charlie. 

"Nothing. I just want to remember you, the way you look tonight." 

Charlie smiled and reached up a hand to touch Rory's cheek. "I want to remember you too." 

Rory kissed him, gently this time, his hands sinking deeper into the mattress as they took his weight. Charlie moaned softly, and arched up with his body, prompting Rory to lower himself so that their torsos were touching, hissing involuntarily as his cock and Charlie's rubbed against one another. It felt good, but Rory moved back up onto his knees, placing gentle teasing kisses all over Charlie's face and neck, licking the salty, spicy skin, dipping his tongue into the hollow between the collarbones. Charlie wriggled appreciatively and tried to roll them both over, but Rory wouldn't let him. 

"Stay still. I want to do this for you." 

"Do what?" 

"Make love to you." 

Charlie looked at him as if he'd suddenly grown two heads. "Make love to me?" 

"Yes. You're not the only one who can do it, you know." 

"I know. It's just that usually you want it fast." 

"And tonight I want it slow, and I want to kiss you and touch you and watch you gasp and blush and shiver." Rory's hands were drifting lightly over the sensitive skin of Charlie's neck as he spoke, and he could feel the slight shiver that Charlie was trying to suppress. He shifted around on the bed until he had a better angle, and then dropped his mouth to Charlie's left nipple, kissing it, tonguing it and worrying at it gently with his teeth. When Charlie's squirms and cries had become desperate enough, he transferred his attentions to the right. 

"Oh, God, Rory, please," begged Charlie. 

"Please what?" 

"Fuck me, suck my cock, just do something!" 

Rory smiled, feeling a deep satisfaction that he could bring his lover to the point of desperation so quickly - but it was far too soon for him to give him the completion he craved. Instead, he turned his attention to Charlie's neck, pressing feather-light kisses from chin to ear, nuzzling into the curve of his neck, working his way over the shoulder and back, eventually, to the collar bones and over to the other side. Charlie had calmed down a little, and sighed softly as Rory's kisses continued, his eyes closed and his face almost peaceful as Rory dropped kisses over his eyelids, nose and mouth. 

"Better?" he asked. 

"Mmm," murmured Charlie, not even opening his eyes. "Still want you inside me." 

"I'm working my way there." Rory kissed his way down Charlie's chest, licking up the traces of sweat in the hollow of his sternum, and feeling the texture of skin and hair against his tongue. Charlie started wriggling again as Rory reached the ticklish hollow between navel and hip and started to nuzzle there. He could smell the musky scent from Charlie's groin, could feel the heat from his body, and by turning his head slightly he could see Charlie's very impressive erection. 

He sat back on his heels, looking down at his lover's body - pale and lean, with a beauty that only youth could endow, always ready for whatever Rory could give him, or take from him - and nodded to himself. Charlie was his lover, his one, his only. He was going to make this the best night that Charlie had ever experienced, and maybe the memory would keep him safe, and keep him close while he was away. 

Charlie opened his eyes and looked up at him. "You going to sit there all night?" 

Rory shook his head. "Just admiring the view." 

"It's an impressive sight, don't you think?" He wiggled his hips slightly, sending his cock in an arc from side to side. Rory reached out and gripped it, then eased his way back until he was in a good position to take it in his mouth. The smell of musk was much stronger here, so strong he could almost taste it on his tongue. He steeled himself and opened his mouth, taking Charlie's cock as far in as he could manage. 

Charlie gasped and thrust upward. Rory choked and pulled back. 

"Sorry," said Charlie, hurriedly. "You caught me by surprise. Are you OK?" 

Rory took a deep breath; that had been decidedly unpleasant. "Aye, I'm fine. Just warn me in future." 

"I'll try. Sorry." 

Rory gave Charlie a couple of strokes and brought his hand right up to the head as he bent down and took it in. This time Charlie managed to stay still, and Rory gradually lowered his mouth until he had taken in as much as he could. He started to withdraw, slowly, applying suction, and added a swirl of his tongue around the head. 

"Ohhh," groaned Charlie. "God, I love it when you do that." 

Rory laughed, eliciting another groan and shiver, and then applied himself to teasing his lover until he was incoherent and hoarse. He loved the power he had over Charlie's body: the way he could elicit movement and sound by his actions; the way he could control Charlie's arousal; and, most of all, the way he could tip him over into orgasm with a flick of his tongue at the right moment. 

Having done just that, he let Charlie's cock slide out of his mouth and looked up through his eyelashes. Charlie was lying still, his gaze directed at the ceiling, his breathing ragged. 

"All right there?" he asked. 

Charlie gave an infinitesimal nod. 

Rory grinned to himself, and reached for the tube of lubricant, coating his fingers liberally - he wanted the next stage to be long and slow, that meant lots of lubrication. He pushed Charlie's legs apart, and inserted the first finger. 

"Aah," Charlie's groan made him smile. "That's good." 

"Just good?" 

"It's only one finger. Doesn't get to 'really good' until three." 

"I'll bear that in mind." 

He forced himself to be slow and sure in his preparations, ignoring Charlie's cries for more, until he was sure that he couldn't get any more lubrication onto either of them. "Really good now?" he asked as the third finger went in. 

Charlie was making the effort not to whimper and just nodded. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, making him look wanton and innocent at the same time, and Rory felt another surge of lust go through him. 

"On your side," he ordered. Charlie looked startled, but rolled onto his side, bringing his knees up so that his bottom was exposed. 

"That's good, love, want you long and slow this time," murmured Rory as he lay down beside Charlie and lined himself up. "Want to keep you on the edge for hours, want you to beg and moan and whine with your need for me." 

Charlie groaned and took hold of his cock, giving it a couple of strokes before Rory gently batted it away. "Don't do that, you'll come too soon," he chided. 

"Want you in me." 

"In a few seconds." Rory wriggled a little until he was in position, then inched forward, pressing into Charlie, feeling the slight resistance of his body, pushing past it and easing himself in fully. 

"Oh, yes," breathed Charlie. "That's good. Brilliant. Want this forever." 

"Aye, me too," said Rory. He started moving, a gentle back-and-forth movement, accompanied by caresses to Charlie's face, neck, chest and abdomen. He wanted Charlie to feel him over every inch of his body, he wanted Charlie to have the deepest, most intense orgasm he'd ever had. 

He pressed his cheek against Charlie's back, feeling the heat radiating off him, seeing the sheen of sweat that was coalescing into droplets along his spine, smelling the unique and arousing scent that came from his lover's every pore. He concentrated on keeping his movement slow and even, ignoring Charlie's pleas for more, faster, and instead amused himself by playing with one of Charlie's nipples. 

Charlie arched against him and pushed back with his hips, trying to draw Rory in deeper. Rory relented enough to lift Charlie's leg and push it forward, changing the angle and allowing him to get a little further inside. He was still able to scrape over Charlie's prostate with each stroke, and the sensation on his cock was nearly unbearable. He kept his eyes open, the better to distract himself from the demands of his nerve endings and stay in control. The expanse of skin in front of him was flushed and warm - he could feel the heat radiating out - and he smoothed his hand over the lean hips, around to where Charlie's cock was pulsing. After a few gentle tugs and a flick of his fingertip against the head, Charlie was whimpering and bucking, and the movements around him were enough to drive Rory crazy. 

He had to speed up - he was only human after all, and Charlie was so fucking beautiful that it hurt - and he pushed deeper inside, pulling Charlie back hard against him. His own grunts and wordless cries were mingling with Charlie's now, and he moved harder and faster, feeling the slow, fiery spiral ignite deep inside him and spread out through limbs and trunk until it exploded and he emptied himself inside his love. He barely registered Charlie clamping a hand around his own and pumping his cock rapidly until he, too, came, and then the body underneath him subsided with a sigh. 

Rory pulled out - and after all these months it was still a wrench to separate himself from his lover, even when he knew they'd be joined again in an hour or two - and rolled onto his back. 

Charlie rolled over onto his front and groaned. "I am absolutely fucking boneless." 

Rory smiled, but he was too exhausted himself to say anything. He just brushed his hand against Charlie's hip, letting his lover know that he was listening. 

Charlie turned his head, looking at Rory with a sleepy smile. He managed to move enough to drop a kiss onto Rory's shoulder, then sank back onto the sheets. 

Rory smiled up at the ceiling. He didn't even have the energy to speak, but it didn't really matter. He loved Charlie and Charlie loved him, and that was all they needed. 

  
_Sunday 26th March_

Getting up on Sunday morning was a slow and protracted affair, delayed by more than one bout of love-making and a leisurely breakfast. It was nearly eleven by the time they made it to the shower, and even then neither of them could hurry through their ablutions. 

As Rory was buttoning his trousers, Charlie came up behind him and put his arms around him. "You know we fly out Friday morning," he began, somewhat hesitantly. 

"Aye," Rory noted, buckling his belt. They'd already agreed that Rory wasn't going to the airport to see them off - there would be too many press photographers and fans. There was no way that Charlie could say goodbye to Rory there, not in front of cameras and witnesses. 

"Mum's having a family dinner on Thursday night." 

Rory couldn't help but feel a little disappointed - he knew it was sentimental, but he'd been hoping to spend that evening with Charlie himself. "That's all right," he said. "We can say our farewells on Wednesday." 

"No, silly. I asked Mum if I could invite you, and she said yes. I think she likes you." 

Rory turned around, looking at Charlie in astonishment. "You want me there at a family dinner?" 

"Well, you are family." 

"Will Liam be there too?" 

"Well, yes, but don't worry, Mum'll keep him under control." 

"It's going to look a bit odd if I'm the only non-family member there, though." 

"So? I want you there, Mum's happy for you to be there, and it means that Liam will behave himself. Everybody wins." 

"I doubt that Liam would view it in the same way. Or your Dad." 

Charlie shrugged. "Don't care. Come on, love. It's the last chance we'll have to see each other for three months." 

"I'd rather see you on your own, you know, not in front of all your family." 

"I'll whisk you away for a quiet snog, don't you worry. I'd take you upstairs for a shag but I think Dad would go ballistic." 

"I think you're right." 

"But I'll manage a kiss. See if I don't." 

Rory had to grin at that - Charlie's optimism was hard to ignore. True, they might be able to have a few quiet moments to themselves, family permitting, and it would be better than spending the evening on his own. "All right then, but I'll definitely want that kiss before I go." 

"You'll get it." 

"Promise me?" 

"I promise." 

He kissed Rory then and there to seal it, and then stepped back to let Rory put his shoes on. Rory knew that his bottom was being admired, and took his time doing up the laces. He smiled to himself when he felt Charlie's hand there, and wished that he could tumble the boy back into bed. But it was already a quarter to twelve, and he'd promised to give Charlie a lift back to his parents' house for midday. 

Rory straightened up and turned to capture Charlie's mouth in another kiss. 

"Can I stay here?" asked Charlie, softly. 

"Your mum's expecting you." 

"She knows where I am." 

"And if I don't get you home in time for lunch she might not let me come over on Thursday, and then you won't get to see me at all." 

Charlie pouted, but allowed himself to be pushed out of the flat and into the car. The journey only took a few minutes, and all too soon Rory had pulled into the driveway. 

Charlie opened the car door, but didn't move. "You'll be there on Thursday?" he asked, looking back at Rory. 

"I will." 

"Good. I don't want to have to come looking for you." 

"I'll always be there for you. You know that." 

"I do." Charlie gave him a last quick kiss and stepped out of the car. 

Rory watched him walk up the path to the door and go in before pulling out from the kerb. He was not looking forward to the next three months. Not one little bit. 

  
_Thursday 30th March_

Rory approached the house with an odd reluctance. Tonight was their farewell, their last chance at a kiss until the band's return in three months, and he had an odd, superstitious feeling that if he didn't go in and say goodbye, Charlie might not actually leave. Stupid, he knew. Charlie was going with the band, whether he said goodbye or not, and if he didn't see Charlie tonight, then he'd only be hurting himself and his lover. 

He took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. The door was opened by Mike, who grunted and stepped aside to let Rory in. 

"Good evening, Mr Pace," said Rory politely as he stepped over the threshold. 

Mike managed to say "Good evening," before shutting the door and gesturing for Rory to go into the living room. Rory stifled a smile - sometimes Mike's efforts to be civil were so obvious it hurt, and sometimes they were non-existent. Today was somewhere in-between. 

Civil or not, Mike had made it clear to them both that he still considered homosexuality a phase his son would grow out of, and although he tolerated Rory, it was more as one of Charlie's friends than as a lover. He'd also made it quite clear - on the one occasion when he'd caught Charlie with his arm around Rory - that there were to be no 'goings on' in the house. Charlie had fumed, and Rory had felt his fists clenching, but he'd held onto his temper, since there was no point in antagonising Charlie's parents after all, and had made his farewells a few minutes later. But that had been three weeks ago, and he owed it to Charlie to maintain cordial relations with his parents for as long as possible. 

Liam was already sitting in the lounge, drinking a beer. They exchanged guarded looks, and Rory made sure that he sat himself as far away as possible while Mike poured him out a drink - a whisky from the bottle of Glenmorangie Rory had got him for his birthday last month. 

"Thank you," he said, taking the glass and giving Mike a pleasant smile, one that had a much larger counterpart inside his own head. It was a form of one-upmanship, this game, each of them demonstrating how polite they could be to people they really didn't like at all. 

He was saved the effort of starting a conversation by Charlie's tempestuous arrival, heralded by the heavy thump of footsteps careening down the stairs. He was flushed and his hair was still wet, but to Rory he looked beautiful as always. 

"Hiya," he threw a blinding smile at Rory before dropping down beside him. "Sorry, I was running late - had to help Mum with dinner. Still haven't finished packing." 

"That'd be right," muttered Liam. "Just make sure you're at the airport on time. We're not holding the plane for you." 

Charlie gave him the finger, saying, "You won't need to, don't worry. And at least I won't need to pay excess baggage - I'm not the one trying to carry fifty thousand different outfits." 

"Well, no one's going to be looking at you anyway, so who cares if you wear the same gear every night?" 

Rory cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Liam, who made a face but said nothing more, looking down at his beer, instead. _That's right, you arrogant shit, stay quiet when I tell you,_ he thought to himself. _And if I hear that you've been making my Charlie's life a misery in the US I'll make you wish you'd stayed there._

Charlie got up to get himself a drink, then sat back down beside Rory. Rory noted that their legs were touching from thigh to ankle, and took a perverse pleasure in making sure that they stayed that way, especially when he saw that Mike had seen it, too. 

Meg came through from the kitchen before hostilities could be resumed, and Rory stood up to kiss her on the cheek. She smiled warmly at him and he couldn't help but smile back. She and Kevin were the only members of Charlie's family that he'd really taken to, and he hoped that they would be able to maintain some form of contact while Charlie was away. 

Meg obviously thought the same. "It's so good to see you, Rory," she said, giving him a hug. "Thank you for joining us tonight." 

"Thank you for inviting me." 

"Well, I consider you one of the family now, you know. And don't think that you're not welcome when Charlie's away. I expect to see you here just as often as you are now." 

"Thanks, Meg," he said, giving her his warmest smile. "I certainly won't turn down any invitations to lunch. And if you need a hand with anything, just let me know." 

"I'll do that." 

"Has Mike got you a drink?" 

"Oh, yes." 

"Good. I think I'll sit down for a couple of minutes. We're only waiting on the vegetables, and Bridget will give me a call when they're ready." She sat down in her armchair and smiled at them all. She always had a calming effect on her family, Rory had noted, and today was no exception. Liam lost the sulky look he'd been sporting, Mike brightened up and Charlie beamed. It was going to be a civilised evening, after all. 

~~~~~ 

After the meal, there was coffee and chocolate cake, and conversation was steady, if not scintillating. It was while Rory was helping to carry the used cups back to the kitchen that he was waylaid by Charlie in the hall and pulled into a dimly-lit corner of the hall. 

"Thanks for coming over tonight." 

Rory smiled, a little sadly. "Wasn't going to miss out on my last chance for a kiss, was I?" 

Charlie took the cue and kissed him, not as deeply or as thoroughly as either of them wanted, but then they had to keep a weather eye out for Mike. 

"God, I'm going to miss you so much," whispered Charlie. "Wish you could come with us." 

Rory grimaced. "Can you imagine me and Liam in the same bus for two months? There'd be murder done." 

Charlie giggled. "Well, maybe it wouldn't be a good idea." 

"Absolutely not. But I'll be waiting here. You've got the new phone - you can text me every day." 

"I'll do that." 

"And call me when you can." 

"I'll do that too. And I'll email if I can find an internet café." 

"I'll check my inbox every day. Don't forget your password." 

"Since my password is rorylovesme, I doubt I'll forget it," he confided. 

Rory felt a swell of emotion rise up as he registered the words. He reached up to smooth a stray lock of hair, and Charlie turned his cheek so that he could kiss Rory's wrist. Rory smiled, and touched their lips together. "Don't you forget it, because it's true. And when you get back, you'll move in." 

"And then we'll wake up together every morning." 

"Until the next tour." He knew he sounded a bit sad, but he didn't like to think of the all-too-short time that he and Charlie would have until they started the second leg of the tour. 

"I won't be away for long. And I'll come back as soon as I can." 

"I know you will." 

"And I'll bring you back presents." 

"You don't have to do that." 

"I know. But I want to." 

Rory smiled. "I'd rather have you than any present." 

"You can have me and presents both." 

It was on the tip of his tongue to say, _Don't go, don't leave me,_ but he wasn't going to cave in to the longing in his heart. Charlie had a career now, and touring was going to be a part of their lives for as long as he remained a musician. Rory would simply have to get used to saying goodbye to him, even though it was ripping him up inside, because the alternative was not to have Charlie at all, and that would be much, much worse. 

"Come on, pet, let's get back to the lounge. Your mum's going to be wondering where we are and what we're doing." 

"I bet she knows anyway," 

"Your Dad doesn't." 

"Forget about him," said Charlie, but he released Rory and stepped back. 

Rory pulled him in for another quick kiss, then let him go. He watched as Charlie walked back into the lounge, and wondered, for the umpteenth time that evening, how he was ever going to cope for the next three months. 


	3. Memory

**3.1 Occupational Hazard**

_Tuesday 24 April 2001_

There was a flurry of voices in the outer office and then Chris appeared at the door. "It’s the polis," he announced, but it wasn't really necessary - Rory could already see them. 

"Aye, then," he said, setting aside the accounts he'd been checking (thank Christ they were the legitimate books), and looked up. 

Two men strode into the room, showing him their ID cards. 

"Francis McManus?" asked the elder, a stocky, middle-aged man, 

Rory's eyes narrowed. That was enough to get them into his bad books before they'd even started. "I'm known as Rory," he stated firmly. 

"I'm Detective Inspector Reeve, and this is Detective Sergeant Price, from Ashton CID. We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind." 

He did mind - in fact, he minded it very much, but if there was one thing he'd learned at his father's knee it was that was never a good idea to antagonise the police unnecessarily. _Save it for when you need it,_ his father had said, and he did. Instead he nodded, briefly. "Take a seat," he added, as they sat down. "Chris, get us a pot of tea." 

DI Reeve shook his head, saying, "No, there's no need for that. We won't be long." 

Chris glanced at Rory, who gave a tiny shake of the head, then nodded and left the room, carefully shutting the door behind him. 

Rory was encouraged that they didn't expect to take long, but it still didn't explain why they were in his office - Ashton division covered the eastern district of Greater Manchester, not the city. He wasn't going to relax a millimetre until the two of them had left the building. 

Reeve settled into the chair, arranging the folds of his overcoat around him, while DS Price got out his notebook and a pen and leaned forward, like a secretary poised to take dictation. 

"Where were you the Sunday before last?" asked Reeve, bluntly, though his voice remained pleasantly light. 

Rory raised an eyebrow. "Sunday before last?" he repeated, trying to think. Since Charlie had been away on tour, he rarely saw anyone from Friday night to Monday morning unless he was visiting "clients" - and he hardly thought that any of them would be a suitable alibi. He wondered how much trouble this seemingly-innocent question was going to land him in. He could lie, of course, but that would inevitably cause more trouble than it was worth. Just as he was about to say he was at home, with no company, he had a sudden realisation. "Easter Sunday, wasn't it?" 

Reeve nodded, and Rory almost sighed with relief. "I was with some friends," he said, sending up a small prayer of thanks for Meg's mothering instincts. 

"All day?" 

"Most of it. From about eleven in the morning to about four in the afternoon." 

"And after that?" 

"Home. Alone." 

"All night?" 

"Aye, all night." And he'd be alone at night for another week, until the band came back and he'd have Charlie in his bed again. "What's the problem anyway?" 

"We're investigating a possible crime." 

"A _possible_ crime?" echoed Rory. "Do ye not know for sure, then?" 

"A suspicious death," clarified the inspector. 

A murder enquiry, then. Paradoxically, that reassured Rory - he hadn't killed anyone that he knew of. He hadn't even beaten anyone up recently, and, as far as he knew, neither had Chris or Ken. That meant that whatever was going on over in Ashton, it had nothing to do with him. He leaned back in his chair, no longer worried by what they were going to ask, though he still wasn't going to let down his guard. "Whose death?" 

"We're asking the questions," growled the sergeant. 

Reeve quietened him with a gesture. "Malcolm Trevisian." 

"That piece o' shite!" The epithet was out of his mouth before he could even think. Bugger. "Well, I can't say I'm sorry. He had it coming." 

"What was your relationship with Mr Trevisian?" 

"Relationship? There was no fucking relationship." He felt a flash of anger that they might think he associated with scum like that, but forced himself to calm down, taking a slow, deep breath and counting to five. Reeve was still looking at him curiously. "I met him a couple of times," he explained. "We didn't get on. End of story." 

"When did you last see him?" 

Rory shrugged again. "Months ago, at the races. I didn't speak to him." 

"Did you have any business dealings with him?" 

"No." 

"No?" 

"No. For all I know he cleans his offices himself." 

"Very funny." 

"Aye, so my friends say." 

"Were you aware that Mr Trevisian had a criminal record?" 

"Wouldn't surprise me." 

"Would it surprise you to know that he died a very wealthy man?" 

"I didn't know him well enough to speculate on his income. But bookies tend to be rich." 

"He wasn't just a bookie, he ran a loan-sharking business. Very lucrative." 

"I wouldn't know about that." 

"Oh, come off it, McManus. We know you're in the business yourself." 

"I'm a respectable businessman." He looked Reeve in the eye and spoke the words firmly and confidently. 

The sergeant almost snorted at that, earning him a quelling glance from the inspector. Reeve turned back to Rory with a stern look. "We know about the cleaning business. We also know about the other business you and your father run, so don't try and play silly buggers with me. There's nothing to stop us hauling you back to Ashton and holding you for a day or two on suspicion." 

Rory frowned. He wasn't stupid enough to think that his other activities were invisible to the police - he'd been in Manchester for three years now, and he'd had one or two recalcitrant clients who'd needed some vigorous "encouragement" - but on the whole he had thought he'd been successful in staying relatively unnoticed. And he certainly didn't want to get pulled in for questioning - his record in England was clean, and that was the way he wanted it to stay. But then again, it didn't look like the police had any firm grounds for suspicion, or they wouldn't be making the effort to be polite. 

He decided to call their bluff. "If you really thought I had anything to do with it you'd have walked in here with a warrant, so don't try and threaten me. You're looking for information on Trevisian, plain and simple. If I had any, I'd give it to you. He was a wee gobshite, greedy and stupid. I steered clear of him and he kept out of my way." He leaned forward. "Manchester's better off without him, but I didn’t have anything to do with it. That's it." 

"You're not helping us," said the sergeant, obviously desperate to fill his notebook. 

Rory smiled, letting the sergeant see exactly why he was known as the Shark. "I'm helping you to eliminate me from your enquiries, son. By the time you're as experienced as the inspector here, you'll have learned to appreciate little things like that." 

Reeve's lips twitched, and Rory gained the impression that the officious sergeant was not exactly popular with his colleagues. 

Reeve gave a slight cough and regained his composure. "Do you know Mike Mulligrew or Gary Mitchell?" 

"Vaguely. Mulligrew runs a security business; Mitchell is one of his men. I've seen them around." 

"You speak to them often?" 

"No. Occasionally my crew might be covering the same event, but usually by the time we start cleaning up there's no need for security any more." 

"Ever had financial dealings with them?" 

"No." 

"You paying any protection money to them?" 

"Fuck off. Do I look stupid?" 

Reeve gave him a shrewd look, and Rory wondered just how much he'd given away. No one asked him for protection money - not twice, anyway. Maybe someone had told the police what had happened to the last idiot who had tried. Twenty-seven stitches and three months in plaster was what Ken had told him afterwards, and he had smiled and bought Ken a case of beer. 

"What about Bobby Rajkumar?" Reeve continued. 

Rory shook his head. "Never heard of him." He watched the sergeant scribbling in his notebook for a few seconds longer, then asked, "Is that all?" 

Reeve nodded. "That will be all for now. Though it would help if you could give us the names and contact details of the friends you were with on Easter Sunday." 

Bugger that for a lark. Rory was not at all keen for the police to be talking to Meg and Mike, but it couldn't be helped. Reluctantly, he gave their address and phone number, and watched as the sergeant wrote it all down. 

"Thank you, Mr McManus. We'll be in touch if we need anything else." The inspector got to his feet. 

_I'm sure you will,_ thought Rory, _but let's hope you don't._

The sergeant finished his scribbling, closed his notebook with a snap and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He looked balefully at Rory, like a terrier on a tight leash, and stood up. 

As soon as the police were out of the office Rory picked up the phone and called Meg. There was no answer, but he let it ring out anyway as he tried to work out where she might be and how he might reach her before the police. She was probably at work - which meant that he might have a chance to catch her that afternoon before Mike got home. 

"Chris, get me another tea," he called, hoping that it would settle his nerves. He needed to be calm while he thought about the best way of handling the next couple of days. He had to work out what to do next (which was simple) and what the consequences might be (which was not). The first thing was that he had to talk to Meg, before the police did, that was the most important thing. Mike as well, but that was less important. After that ... well, it would depend on how she took it, and he couldn't afford to make any assumptions. If the worst came to the worst, he might have to explain to Charlie that Meg didn't want him in the house any more, and that would make things very awkward, very awkward indeed. 

He frowned. As far as he knew - and he was fairly certain - Meg had no idea of the other side of his business. Charlie wouldn't have told her, and though he wouldn't put it past Liam, he was fairly sure that there would have been a change in her attitude towards him if he had. No, he was going to have to tell her himself which was both good and bad. He didn't want to, obviously, but there was no help for it - he had to explain the other side of his business in his own way before the efficient DI Reeve and officious DS Price got hold of her and told her a lot of lies and half-truths about him and his Da. He'd have to tell her the whole story, too - or at least as much of it as he thought she could handle. He couldn't just tell her that the police were interested in his whereabouts on Easter Sunday, she would want to know why. He would have to explain, and he'd have to tell her everything that the police would tell her - the loans business, his father, Chris and Ken, the violence (some of it, anyway) - all the sordid details that he'd kept hidden for so long. 

There was one thing he definitely wasn't going to tell her, though, and that was how he met Charlie. There was no need for that, anyway. The official explanation - that he had simply seen the band in a pub one night and taken a fancy to the bass player - was still valid, and he wasn't going to risk Meg's good opinion any more than he had to. She might forgive him for being a loan-shark, but he had a feeling she would never forgive him for having made Charlie into a rent-boy, no matter how well it had turned out in the end. 

Chris brought the tea in, and Rory took the first sip, inhaling the aroma. He looked at his watch - two twenty. Her shift would likely finish at three, and she'd be home by three-thirty or four. That would give him a couple of hours to talk to her before Mike got home. He relaxed, and sat back in his chair, sipping tea and rehearsing in his head exactly how he was going to explain his life to her. 

~~~~~ 

He was sitting in his car just outside the Paces' house when Meg pulled up in her little VW Golf, and he caught up with her before she'd even got her key in the lock. 

"Hello, Rory, love," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "What brings you here?" 

"I need to talk to you." He tried to keep his voice light, but a little of his apprehension must have crept into his tone, because she went pale. 

"Is everything all right? Has anything happened? Are the boys all right?" 

"Everything's fine, Meg. I had a call from Charlie last night and everything's going really well, except that he's sick of American beer." 

"Oh, that's a relief. Don't scare me like that." She unlocked the front door, dropped her bag on the hall table and ushered him into the house. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to." He followed her through to the kitchen, where she filled the kettle and switched it on. 

"So, love, if it's not the boys, what's the matter?" 

He hesitated. He really, really didn't want to do this. "I need to talk to you about something." 

"What is it?" 

He looked down. "The police are going to come and ask you some questions about where I was on Easter Sunday." 

"Why? What's wrong? What have you done?" 

"Nothing's wrong. I haven't done anything - at least, nothing they're interested in. It's just a routine enquiry," 

The kettle's whistle gave him a minute's respite as she made two mugs of tea. He took the one she set before him and sipped it gratefully. 

"Now, Rory, tell me what the matter is. Why do the police want to talk to me?" 

"They just want to check that I really was here on Easter Sunday." 

"Why?" 

"Because ... something happened, and they thought I might have something to do with it. I didn't," he added hastily, "it was nothing to do with me at all." 

"So why are they checking on you?" 

"Because I knew him." 

"Knew him? Knew who?" 

"The man who died." 

She looked confused. "Who died?" 

"A man called Trevisian. Someone killed him that day, and they want to find out who." 

"So all they want to do is to confirm that you were here that day ... and the times, too, I suppose." 

"Aye.' 

She looked at him shrewdly. "There's more to this than just giving you an alibi, isn't there?" 

He nodded, bleakly. "I can't trust the bastards not to tell you things." 

"Things about you?" 

He nodded again. 

Meg's face hardened momentarily, then she took a breath and composed her features in a softer, more sympathetic expression. "Well then, I suppose you'd better tell me before they do." 

Rory looked down at his mug, wishing he could be somewhere else; wishing that he didn't have to hurt this woman who had always been so kind to him, who had been more of a mother to him than his own had ever been. He was desperately afraid that she would be angry with him: angry for deceiving her; angry for putting Charlie in danger; angry for not being the ideal boyfriend he'd always pretended to be. 

'Is it very bad?" she asked, he voice soft and coaxing. 

Rory considered that for a moment. As far as crimes went, he supposed, loan-sharking was small scale. It rated well below murder, armed robbery and drug-dealing, for example, but it was bad enough. She was going to be angry and upset, and the longer he let this fucking silence go on, the worse it was going to be. 

"I'm a money-lender," he said, bluntly - almost belligerently. "I lend people money. At interest." 

Meg was silent. He wondered if she understood him; how much she knew about loan-sharking. Perhaps she thought he was telling her he was a venture capitalist. "It's not legal, what I do. It's ... the people I lend to, they're not rich. They need money but they can't get loans from the bank, so they come to me. I ... I give it to them, and then charge them interest." 

"How much interest?" 

"Ten percent." He forced himself to add the rest. "A month." 

"That's a hundred and twenty percent a year." 

He nodded, his eyes fixed on his mug of tea. 

"How can they afford that? How can they pay it back?" 

"They can't. A lot of them can't." 

"What happens when they can't?" 

"I ... we ... we encourage them. Or threaten them. Or threaten their family. Anything that works." 

"And what if they still can't? What then?" 

He squirmed under her interrogation, gentle as it was. "We take what they have." _Please don't ask, please don’t make me say it._

"Is it like the TV? Do you hit people?" 

"Sometimes." 

There was another long pause. He had another gulp of tea, raising his eyes only enough to see Meg's hands circled around her own mug, her fingers nearly white from the pressure she was exerting. 

"Does Charlie know about this?" 

He nodded. 

"Is he a part of it? Have you dragged him into a life of crime and violence?" 

"No!" The question shocked him into looking up and straight into her eyes. "He's got nothing to do with it. Nothing." 

"Is that the truth, Rory?" 

"It is. Honestly, Meg, I keep him well out of it." 

"But he knows what you do." 

"Aye, he knows." _Please don't go down this road, Meg, please don't ask me how Charlie got to know._ He had to find a way to divert her attention - he had to stop her thinking about Charlie. Inspiration struck him, and he nearly smiled with relief. "It's my Da's business, really. I was brought up to it. It's all I've ever known." He made his voice soft and sad. 

"So you just went into the family business, so to speak?" she asked. Her voice was concerned, and he congratulated himself. The little lost boy routine was always useful. 

"Aye. I started when I was fourteen. Left school as soon as I could and helped him do the rounds. I helped him with the clubs, too - he has a couple of nightclubs in Glasgow." 

"But it's the money-lending that brings in the cash, I presume." 

He nodded again. 

Meg collected her thoughts for a few seconds, before saying, "I can't say I'm happy about this, Rory. You say you keep Charlie out of it, but you can't. He's going to be dragged into it just because he's living with you. What happens if you get arrested? It's his name that'll be plastered all over the newspapers - our name." 

He hadn't thought of that. "I never meant it to affect you." 

"You should have thought of it." 

"It wasn't my fault," he protested. "I didn't know this was going to happen." 

"But you knew it was going to happen sooner or later. You should have anticipated this." 

"I didn't know someone was going to kill Trevisian." 

"I'm not talking about this man's death. I'm talking about something happening - something that was going to link my family with your dirty business. I don't want the police coming into my house and asking where I was on the night of the fourteenth, or questioning Biddy or Kevin. I won't stand for that." 

He felt his temper flaring at the accusation in her voice, and he gritted his teeth with the effort of keeping his mouth shut. He wished there was something he could say, but there wasn't anything remotely appropriate. I'm sorry? - he never said sorry, and besides he wasn't sorry for meeting Charlie and his family. I won't do it again? - that wasn't up to him, it was up to his father, and he didn't see his father turning over a new leaf anytime soon. I'll go away and leave you alone? - he could no more leave Charlie than he could leave the planet. Charlie was in his blood now. He loved him more with every day that passed, and longed for him more every day they were apart. I'll make it up to you? - how the hell could he compensate Meg for the knowledge that her family was now tainted with crime? She was never going to forgive him for that, for putting the children in danger. 

He felt angry, and anxious, and frustrated. He wanted to blame someone, to hit out at someone, make someone else bear the pain he was feeling. He hated feeling like this. Fuck Trevisian! If the man hadn't been dead already he would have gone and killed him now just because it was Trevisian's fault he was in this mess - Trevisian's for dying and the police for forcing him into this bloody confessional. 

He had to get out of here before he lost it completely. He drained the last of his tea, set the mug carefully down on the table and stood up. "I'll just go then," he muttered. 

He hadn't even got to the kitchen door before her voice halted him. 

"Oh, sit down, Rory. I'm not going to throw you out on your ear." 

He stared at her, confused. He had confessed to her and she was angry, so he should leave - that was expected. Why would she tell him to stay? It wasn't as though she was going to beat him up like his Da. Maybe she just wanted to shout at him. 

Maybe she did ... except that she didn't look like she was going to shout at him. In fact she looked more like she was about to cry, and that scared him more than the thought of a beating. He never knew what to do when women cried - unless they were clients, of course, in which case he ignored the tears and bullied them some more. Meg wasn't a client. 

He watched, awkwardly, as her face crumpled and tears spilled over her cheeks. She rummaged in her pocket for a tissue and tried to dry them, but the tears kept on falling. Dismayed, Rory offered her his own handkerchief - luckily unused - and then put a hand tentatively on her shoulder. 

The effect was as dramatic as it was unexpected: instead of calming down, Meg burst into noisy sobs and turned to his embrace like a child, holding onto him and sobbing on his chest as if her heart were breaking. He held onto her, patting her back and murmuring nonsense, as his granny had done for him so many times, until she quietened. 

"Sorry," she muttered, mopping her eyes. 

"I'm sorry too," he replied. Surprisingly, he actually meant it. 

She gave an odd, broken-sounding laugh. "You can't take all the credit for this, I'm afraid. It wasn't just what you told me, love, it was a very bad day at work. One of our long-term patients died - a boy about Charlie's age. All I could think about on the was home was that at least it wasn't Charlie, and then you go and tell me that Charlie's in danger, and it was just too much." The tears returned and Rory went back to the soothing routine until she settled. 

Pulling her self upright, she dried her eyes and blew her nose defiantly. She looked at the sodden, crumpled handkerchief in her hand and said, "I ought to give this back to you just as it is, but I'll put it through the wash first." 

"Thank you," said Rory fervently, and they exchanged tenuous smiles. 

"Mike hates it when I get upset about work. And I don't very often, but sometimes it gets to me." 

"It would get to anyone, I think." 

"And don't think this gets you off the hook, either. I'm still very angry with you. Why can't you just leave and get another job? An honest job." 

"The cleaning firm is an honest job. And it's not so easy, you know, trying to leave. I know too much about the other business for my father would let me go." He shrugged. "I'm putting some money aside, but it'll be a while before I have enough to tell him I'm leaving." 

"Charlie has money," Meg started, but Rory cut her off. 

"Charlie stays out of it. I'm serious, Meg, I don't want him to think he has to support me. And I don't want him connected with the business. Not at all." 

She nodded. "Good." 

He looked at the clock on the wall - almost four o'clock. Kevin would be home soon, and he ought to be getting back to the office. 

"Are you all right now?" 

Meg shrugged. "I'll manage." 

"I'd better be going then." 

"I'll pray for you." 

"Don't waste your prayers on me, I'm beyond redemption." 

"No one is beyond redemption, love." 

He couldn't really answer that, sp he made his farewells and drove back to the city, wondering if he had done the right thing, wondering how she would handle being questioned by the police, wondering if, after a night's thought, she would decide that she really didn’t want to set eyes on him again. 

There were times when he really didn't enjoy being a criminal. 

  
**3.2 A Half-Remembered Face**

_June 2001_

The traffic was heavy and slowed by rain, so they were running late by the time they reached the outskirts of Glasgow. It didn't help that Charlie was driving his beloved MG convertible, the one he'd bought the year before with the money they'd made from the first US tour. The car was much colder than Rory's Camry, and didn't handle the wet quite as well. After a brief discussion, Charlie pulled up at the hotel and was left there to check in with their bags, while Rory took the car and drove to the club his father used as his principal office. 

He parked the car in a handicapped spot close to the entrance, not caring if he got a ticket. As long as he wasn't late, that was the important thing. As he walked through the main door and through to the back he noted, with some regret, that he knew few of the staff on duty - though they would all of them know him, of course. It was more than their jobs were worth not to recognise him and treat him accordingly. 

The club was fairly quiet. That was hardly surprising, since it was the middle of a Saturday afternoon and most of the punters wouldn't have finished their grocery shopping yet. There were several scantily-clad girls around who looked at them, the brand new ones obviously curious to know who he was, the more experienced simply nodding hello. Rory returned their greetings coolly but politely, and paused to chat with Angie Douglas, the senior hostess, a handsome and fashionably-dressed woman in her mid-forties who still harboured hopes of becoming the second Mrs Frank McManus but knew better than to push her luck. 

"How are you, Rory-love? I haven't seen you since Hogmanay." She touched her cheek to his and he smelled the unmistakable scent of Joy. 

"Fine, Angie. You're looking radiant. Costa del Sol, was it?" 

"Thank you, dear, and yes, it was. Beautiful place. You should go there yourself, get yourself a bit of a tan." 

"You know I never tan, and I have enough freckles already." 

"Well, you look like a milk bottle on legs to me. Don't you ever see the sun in Manchester? When are you coming home, pet? 

"We do get the sun down there occasionally - it's just filtered out by the smog. And you know how things are. It'll be up to m'Da." He shrugged. 

"I know, dear," she sighed. "I do wish you two would get along a little better." 

"None of your business, Angie," he warned, but kept his voice reasonably pleasant. She had his father's ear much of the time - as much as he listened to any woman - and it wouldn't do to get her offside. 

"Sorry, pet. You're quite right." She gave him a bright smile. "Now get upstairs before I get into trouble for chatting you up." She winked at him and turned away to administer a vicious rebuke to one of the hostesses whose makeup didn't meet her exacting standards. 

Rory gave her a fond smile and headed for the offices. He didn't mind Angie. In fact, he was fonder of her than of her predecessors - she didn't try to mother him too much and she wasn't much of a gold-digger. He figured his father could do a lot worse. 

He thought about what she'd said as he climbed the stairs. He definitely wanted to come home - he longed to come back to the city he'd never left in his heart. Sometimes he got so homesick for Glasgow that he'd get out his DVDs of Taggart just to listen to the voices, but that only made him feel worse. 

He hadn't achieved as much as he had hoped in Manchester. Sure, he'd made a success of the cleaning firm - as he'd predicted, they'd branched out from mere office cleaning into event catering and cleaning, and he was making enough money that he didn't need the money-lending business to keep him in smart suits and gold watches - but he hadn't managed to escape from the shadow of his father's reputation. 

It was bad enough that everyone knew he'd been exiled, but with every year that passed he became more and more anxious that his father wouldn't call him back - that he'd cut him out completely. Things changed fast, and Rory was losing touch with the Glasgow scene. He couldn't afford to be away much longer - if it were up to him, he'd be seriously considering selling up and coming home. If his father left it much longer he wouldn't know any of the players, and that was not a position he wanted to be in. Sometimes he thought that maybe his father knew that - that maybe his father wanted him to fade out of sight gradually, so that no one would miss him. 

It just wasn't fair. If it weren't for Charlie, he'd confront his father and force the issue, but he couldn't, not now. Charlie was his one weakness, and he knew it. In every other way he was as hard as steel, but since the moment he had set eyes on Charlie he had been lost, and he knew it. It was the only way in which he continued to defy his father, but he was adamant: he wasn't giving Charlie up for anything, not even a ticket home. 

He sighed. Since there was no way his father would allow him to live with Charlie in Glasgow, and since he wasn't going to give Charlie up, he'd just have to bide his time in Manchester and hope for the best. 

~~~~~ 

Several hours later, Rory left his father's offices in a blacker mood than the one he'd had going in - and that was saying something. Why couldn't his father see sense? He'd shown him how the two sides of the business were progressing, and still the man wanted him to concentrate on the loan-sharking. What was the point of going through night school to do accountancy and business studies if he wasn't allowed to use the knowledge? What was the point of being in charge of a business if he wasn't trusted to run it? 

It didn't help that his father was still going through the books with a fine-tooth comb. It was nearly two years since he had beaten Rory for 'skimming' - when all he'd done was been a bit slow in paying in his father's share of the Paces' debt - but his father still checked and double-checked every entry. It had led to harsh words on more than one occasion, but here was little that Rory could do about it unless he wanted to give up everything he'd worked for in the last fifteen years and get a job on his own. He was putting some money aside from his own share, but he certainly wouldn't be able to buy his father out for quite a while yet. 

He sighed. One day he'd be his own boss. One day he'd be able to work for himself and no one else, and he'd have the freedom to do what he wanted, when he wanted, in just the way he wanted. Then all he'd have to worry about would be the tax - and a chartered accountant would be able to handle that. 

It was odd, he mused. When he thought about the future, he rarely thought about taking over his father's criminal interests - though no doubt he'd have a fair bit to do there. No, it was the legitimate side that interested him - the clubs, the businesses, the employees - much more complex, much more to do, much more satisfying, and with a much lower risk of being shot in the street or woken up at dawn by the police. When he did take over he'd have to tread carefully, but he'd see what he could do about putting the business on a sound - and legal - footing. 

He walked slowly down the stairs, pre-occupied, and turned the corner, only to bump into someone. He looked up and snarled "Watch where ye're going!" 

There were two of them: Bob Carter, one of his father's men; and a tall, rat-faced man. 

"Sorry, Mr Rory - it's just a visitor for Himself," said Bob, stepping back to make way for Rory. The tall man made no reply, but brushed past him into the corridor and proceeded up the stairs. Rory paused, turning to follow the man's progress with his eyes. The man was dressed in a cheap grey suit that hung off his thin frame, and clashed badly with the tan cowboy boots he was wearing. The face had been vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place where he'd seen him before. One of his father's associates, possibly ... except that he knew most of them, had known them since he was a kid. His father, like most of his kind, was very cautious when it came to taking on new talent, and relied on relatives and word-of-mouth recommendations. This man didn't look like anyone would recommend him. 

Bob muttered something indistinct and followed the stranger up the stairs. 

Rory stopped at the door leading out to the car park. 

"All done then, Mr Rory?" asked the doorman. 

"Aye, Jack," he replied. "Who's yon pasty-face?" he asked, nodding his head back up the corridor. 

"Och, that would be Hank - one of Graham McAllister's men." 

"Hank?" enquired Rory 

Jack chuckled. "Aye. His name's Henry Fletcher, but he calls himself Hank. Too much American telly, if you ask me. Thinks he's Clint Eastwood." 

"Looks more like Clint Eastwood's horse." 

They laughed, and Rory left the building, but he found himself slowing down as he approached the car. He'd seen that face somewhere - but not here, he was sure of it. And it had been a long time since he'd visited any of his father's friends in Glasgow. Could it be from when he lived here? He didn't think so, the memory felt more recent than that. 

He put the thought aside for the moment. No doubt the recollection would come to him in its own good time. For the moment, however, he had to get back to the hotel and Charlie, who still worried about him every time he had a meeting with his father. Not that his father had lifted a hand to him since that time two years ago, but it was always in the back of his mind, and they both knew it. 

He wondered what his father told his friends when they asked after Rory. He couldn't imagine his father blithely telling them that his son was living with his rock-star boyfriend in a cosy flat in Manchester. No, that was unimaginable. Frank probably tried to pretend that Charlie didn't exist. They certainly never talked about him, and Frank was careful not to ask any questions that might require Charlie to be mentioned. A more innocent soul might believe that Frank knew nothing about Rory's current living arrangements. Rory, however, was not an innocent soul, and knew full well that Ken was still reporting back to Frank regularly. Frank would have known to the day when Charlie had moved in, after the first US tour ended. Frank undoubtedly knew that Charlie was with him now, in Glasgow, and would be going on holiday with him. But as long as Frank could pretend that Charlie didn't exist, then they could avoid the issue. 

It wasn't ideal, but it was workable. That, Rory had found, was the best approach to life. 

~~~~~ 

When he got back to the hotel, Charlie was waiting for him, bubbling over with post-shopping triumph. 

"Hey, look what I found!" he exclaimed, holding up a pair of faded jeans. "I couldn't resist trying them on and they look really great. And I found a great belt to go with them." 

Rory smiled and nodded, but he couldn't match Charlie's enthusiasm. 

"What's wrong?" Charlie scrambled over the bed. "Did you argue with your father again?" 

"Not exactly." Rory set his briefcase down and took off his jacket, hanging it up in the wardrobe before sitting on the edge of the bed and undoing his shoelaces. He felt Charlie crawl up beside him. 

"Does he know you're going on holiday?" 

"Of course he does. I told him that myself over a month ago." Socks were next, and then he stood up to take off his trousers. 

"Does he know I'm going with you?" 

"Aye." 

"What did he say?" 

"Nothing. You weren't mentioned." 

"Not at all?" 

Rory looked at him sardonically. "If he ever does mention you, it won't be in a good way, believe me." 

Trousers were also hung up neatly, next to the jacket, and his tie was rolled up and placed on the shelf. His shirt, however, was simply dropped onto the floor, where no doubt Charlie would walk all over it and he'd pick it up himself later. 

He went into the tiny bathroom and turned on the shower. Charlie followed, him, frowning. 

"Are you all right?" 

"I'll be fine. I just need a shower - it's warm out there." 

"Want me to scrub your back?" 

Rory hesitated, but only for a moment, then smiled. He had no illusion that his back would actually get scrubbed, but whatever else ensued would put them both in a good mood and maybe he'd get a backrub later. "Best offer I've had all day." 

Charlie kissed him and started to pull his own T-shirt off. "You might get a better one before the day's over," he predicted, grinning. 

"Thought I might." 

Rory stepped into the shower and let the warm water cascade over him. Charlie followed a few seconds later, brandishing the tiny bar of soap provided by the hotel, and proceeded to run it over Rory's skin. 

Naturally, the shower took a little longer than the actual time required for cleansing themselves, but neither of them saw any reason to complain; nor did they object to a wee lie-down and another round of love-making before hunger finally forced them to get dressed and go in search of food. 

As he fell asleep that night, Rory listened to the sound of the city and wondered if he'd ever be able to live there again, now that he had Charlie. It was a fair bet that his father wouldn't let him bring Charlie to Glasgow with him, and he couldn't leave him behind. 

He gave a mental shrug and rolled over. Manchester wasn't so bad, after all. As long as his father didn't decide to sell the business out from under him, he was doing all right. 

~~~~~ 

The elusive memory came to him three weeks later, when he got caught short in a pub after having waited three-quarters of an hour for a client who never showed up (he made a note to visit the man the next day with Chris and Ken in tow). As he walked into the gents, the acrid smell of stale urine and cheap air fresheners brought back the memory in a vivid fashion. He'd been coming out of the toilet in that club in Birmingham, when he'd brushed past a tall, pale man with a thin face who had given him a hard look. He hadn't registered it at the time, but now the memory was crystal clear: Hank Fletcher had been the man in grey. It had been two years ago; no wonder it had taken him so long to place it. But now he remembered, he knew he couldn't be mistaken. It had been him all right. 

What had Fletcher been doing in Birmingham? Off-hand, he couldn't recall McAllister having any interests down south - but then, neither had his father until a few years ago. It was quite possible that McAllister had business interests in Birmingham and had sent some of his men to check it out. Rory was fairly sure that the encounter had been accidental. They hadn't planned to go there, after all - he'd fallen asleep in the car and Charlie had simply driven south until told to stop. No, it was just an unlucky chance that Hank had seen him and had obviously recognised him. What was not chance was that someone had talked to Frank, and until now, Rory hadn't known who that someone had been. 

He knew that his father kept tabs on him, of course. He'd known that Ken had told his father about Charlie. He knew that he didn't have Ken's loyalty in the same way that he had Chris's - and never mind the fact that Chris was also supposed to keep tabs on him too, he knew he could rely on Chris to keep quiet about the things that really mattered. He also knew, however, that neither of them could have been the source of his father's information on that night in Birmingham, for the simple reason that they hadn't known about it. He'd never even mentioned it to them. 

It had only been a few days after their inadvertent trip that he'd been summoned to Glasgow unexpectedly, and his father had gone through the books with a fine-tooth comb. Rory hadn't, at that point, been able to repay all the money that the Paces owed, and his father had accused him of skimming when he'd found the discrepancy. He'd denied it vehemently at the time but of course, in the strictest sense, his father had been right - he'd taken Charlie's services in lieu of the cash owing. If he'd had more time, he would have been able to pay Frank's percentage of the money and no one would have been any the wiser, but it had been too soon, and the amount too great for him to tidy things up. He'd known that; it had been a calculated risk, one that simply hadn't paid off. 

What had always puzzled him, though, was that Frank had also mentioned that he'd been seen out with his boyfriend in Birmingham, bringing shame on the family. Rory had hardly registered it at the time - he'd been too busy trying to shield his face and stomach from the kicks and punches - but he'd thought about it afterwards, and he'd wondered how his father had found out. 

Now, at last, he knew. It was Fletcher who had shopped him to Frank, who was the direct cause of the severe beating he'd received, who'd seriously damaged the already-fragile relationship he had with his father. And now he knew the who, he knew the why as well. Fletcher was getting nowhere in McAllister's organisation - the big man had too many relatives and clever associates, and Fletcher was neither clever enough nor well-connected enough to climb any higher than errand boy. But he had a rat-like cunning and obviously thought that Frank, with only one, out-of-favour son, would take him on. He probably thought that Frank didn't know that Rory was gay, had thought to create a permanent rift between them, a vacuum that Hank thought he could fill. 

Rory gave a sardonic laugh. Well, if Hank Fletcher had been hoping to buy his way into Rory's shoes, he would have been sorely disappointed. Frank had more family feeling than he liked to admit to anyone, including his son. He certainly wasn't happy that Rory was gay - it was, after all, one of the reasons that Rory had been exiled to Manchester - but he wasn't going to disown his own son, not for that. Even the accusation of 'skimming' wasn't enough for that. 

Hank had served Rory a bad turn, nonetheless. Apart from the pain of the beating, Frank was still going through the books more frequently and more thoroughly. Not that it made much of a difference, since Rory never fudged the books anyway, but it was a sign that his father still didn't trust him completely, and it was surprising how much that hurt. 

He wanted revenge. He rested his chin on his hands and thought about how he could get his own back. What would hurt Hank Fletcher the most? 

It was an interesting problem. 


	4. Problems

**4.1 Surplus to Requirements**

_Monday 8th July 2002_

Charlie bit a ragged fingernail and wondered how long it would be before they knew for certain. 

They'd been anxious for days, ever since they'd learned that Rhythm Records had been acquired by FYT at the start of the month. FYT was a much larger business and had a reputation for being hard-nosed and revenue-focussed. Given the abysmal reviews and disappointing sales of their second album, not to mention less-than-stellar advance sales for the autumn tour, they all knew that DriveShaft was in danger of being dropped. When Paul Burkholdt, their manager at Rhythm, had told them on Friday night that he had been sacked, they were all convinced that Monday would bring bad news. 

The uncertainty and the worry had given them all short tempers, made worse by the fact that they were already in the studio, trying to come up with material for the third album (which Liam had facetiously entitled "Full Body Service"). None of them had more than one passable song ready, not even Charlie, who found that a year of touring and several months of increasing drug use had sapped his energy and dampened his creativity. 

Unable to concentrate on anything, Charlie had decided to sit on the steps and wait for the post. It was a beautiful morning, but he had no appreciation for the sunshine or the birds singing in the trees as he kept his eye firmly fixed on the driveway. It seemed like an eternity, but finally the post was delivered, and he raced up the stairs to the flat. 

He looked through the envelopes. Two were bills, but he set them aside. One was more ominous - a neat business letter with the FYT logo in the top left-hand corner. He turned it over and slid his finger under the flap. 

The letter was brief and to the point. 

> _Dear Mr Pace,_
> 
> As you will be aware, FYT Enterprises Ltd has recently acquired Rhythm Records Ltd. As FYT already has a substantial catalogue, all existing contracts with Rhythm Records Ltd have been reviewed. 
> 
> __
> 
> I regret to have to tell you that it is the decision of FYT Enterprises Ltd that DriveShaft is not considered a viable commercial prospect in the foreseeable future, and that the contract between Rhythm Records Ltd and DriveShaft is considered to be terminated with effect 05 July 2002. Under the provisions of Clause XIIA of the contract, no compensation is payable as a result of this decision. 
> 
> __
> 
> Yours sincerely, 
> 
> __
> 
> Alex Hillman Contracts manager
> 
> __

Charlie stared at the paper. He read it again, and then a third time, but the words remained the same. 

They'd been dropped. After almost three years with the label, two albums and four tours, DriveShaft had been dropped. 

His mobile rang - it was Pat, no doubt to tell him the same thing. 

"Hi, Pat." 

"Have you read your mail?" 

"Yeah, I got the letter." 

"How can they do that? We had a contract?" 

"I don't know. They quote some clause or other - I'll have to see if I can find out what it is." 

"Do you still have your copy? I can't find mine." 

"The lawyers will have the original. I'm not sure where my copy is, either - I brought a couple of boxes of papers with me when I moved out of Mum and Dad's so it's probably in there." 

"What are we going to do?" 

"I don't know. We'll have to have a meeting, talk it over, see if we can get them to change their minds." 

"Do you think they will?" 

"Have to give it a try, don't we? I'm not going to sit back on my arse and let some fucking contract manager order me around." 

"Would they take us back on?" 

"Don't know, do I? But I have to try." 

"What about the tour?" 

"They don't say anything about it, but I suppose that would be cancelled too." 

"Hell, Charlie. This could be a disaster." 

"I know, that's why we have to fight it." 

Charlie's phone started pinging. "Pat, I've got another call - probably Liam or Sinjin. I'll get back to you once I've sorted out where we're going to meet." 

"OK." 

Pat rang off, and Charlie took the other call. As he had suspected, it was Liam. 

"Have you got a letter from FYT?" demanded Liam, with no preamble. 

"Yeah, I was just talking to Pat about it. We've got to fight this, Liam. We'll have to have a meeting today. Can you get hold of Sinjin?" 

"Dunno. He went to London for a couple of days." 

"Oh, great. Just when we need him." 

"I'll give him a call. How about my place?" 

"Sure. What time?" 

"One-ish? We can at least talk it over while we're trying to find Sinjin." 

"OK. Your place at one. I'll let Pat know." 

~~~~~ 

Meeting in person made no difference to their plight. Liam had produced his copy of the contract and they poured over Clause XIIA, which stated, in verbose legalese, that should Rhythm Record be taken over by another company, all contracts would be considered void and would not necessarily be taken up by the new owners. 

"We're fucked," pronounced Liam. 

"But they can't do that!" Pat was still protesting, as if he could change reality merely by repeating his disbelief. 

"They can and they did, and that's all she wrote," said Charlie, slapping his hand down on the paper. "We're really fucked." 

"So what do we do now?" asked Pat. 

"I guess we have to look for another label to take us on," replied Charlie. "Maybe it's a good thing. Rhythm was always too small for us anyway. We need an international label, one that can give us the exposure we deserve." 

Pat looked a bit more cheerful at the thought of a bigger label. "Yeah, maybe Epic or RCA - one of the big ones, anyway." 

"We're going to have to wait until Sinjin gets back -" 

"Do we? I mean, can we start doing something now? Two or three days might make all the difference, especially if we want to salvage to tour." 

Liam shrugged. Charlie got the impression that he was on the verge of saying something once or twice, but was holding himself back. Maybe he wanted to wait until Sinjin joined them. Whatever it was, it wasn't likely to be interesting. 

There was nothing else they could do for the moment. Pat and Charlie left Liam's' together and headed for the pub. Pat was still despondent, even with the tiny hope of getting signed by a major label in his mind. 

"I was going to ask Melissa to marry me," he moaned. "How can I do that if I've got no job?" 

Charlie shrugged. "Liam's worse off - he's got a baby to support, and that huge wedding planned for November." 

"Shit, yeah." He gave Charlie an odd look. "At least you're OK." 

"How? I'm just as much out of a job as everyone else." 

"But you've got Rory. He's got his own business, his own flat - he can support you. It's not like you're going to be out on the streets or crawling home to your parents, is it?" His voice was a little shaky. "Sorry, didn't mean to get all bitter and twisted. It's just that the mortgage on the house will wipe out my savings in no time flat. I'll have to start looking around for work right now unless this fucking contract's renewed." 

"No problem, man. We've been friends too long. And I might have Rory but it doesn't mean I want to be totally dependent on him." _Been there, done that,_ he added in his head. But Pat was right - of all the members of the band, he was the best off, the most secure, because he had Rory. He could take his time to look for another band, he could take a few months off and do some writing, and Rory wouldn't mind at all. As long as he didn't find out about the heroin, Charlie would be fine. 

~~~~~ 

Charlie made his way home after a few pints with Pat. He looked around at the flat with a sense of relief - it had been his home now for two years, and would be his for as long as he and Rory were together. In that, he really was the luckiest, and he knew it. He had a home, he had Rory, and he had money in the bank. He also had a heroin habit, of course, but that could be dealt with. It wasn't going to take over his life. 

He opened the fridge and grabbed another beer. He'd have to think about getting dinner ready soon, but there was time enough for another drink or two. He wondered if he should call Rory at work, but decided against it. 

Rory came in at half past six, looking exhausted. He slipped an arm around Charlie's waist and rested against his shoulder. 

"Bad day?" asked Charlie, setting down the lettuce he'd been tearing. 

"Mmm." Rory affirmed, his arms tightening. "Ken said you called earlier, while I was out. Anything the matter?" 

Charlie shrugged. It was tempting to pretend that it hadn't happened and just take Rory up to bed, but he'd have to break the news sooner or later, and it might as well be now. "The band got dropped." 

"What?" Rory straightened up and Charlie turned around to face him. 

"I got a letter from FYT this morning - they’re the ones who bought Rhythm Records." 

"Aye, I remember." 

"Well, the letter said that they were looking at all of Rhythm's contracts, and they've dropped us, as of last Friday." 

"How much is the pay-out?" 

"Nothing. They said that they didn't have to pay us anything under the terms of the contract." 

"That can't be right - the contract had another year to go." 

Charlie shrugged. "We checked the contract at Liam's - there was a no-fault clause for termination if the company was taken over." 

"Shit.' 

"Yeah." 

"So what are you going to do? Try and get another contract, or go independent?" 

Charlie looked at his feet. "Not sure. Sinjin's still in London - I don't even know if he's heard the news yet." 

"What about gigs?" 

"As far as we can tell, the tour's off. We don't have any other gigs lined up, and it'll take a while for us to get back on the pub circuit - that's if Liam and Sinjin will do that. Sinjin hates the pubs." 

"Does that mean I get you all to myself this summer?" 

Charlie had to smile at the eager note in Rory's voice. "Guess it does, lover," he said, pulling Rory close. "All yours, all the time." 

"Good. Can't complain about that." 

"At least I've still got some money in the bank. I won't be dependent on you." 

"I wouldn't mind. I've got plenty for both of us, ye ken." 

"Yeah, but ... " his voice trailed off. He didn't need to explain, anyway - he knew Rory would be thinking about the summer of 1999, the same as he was. 

"I know." Rory kissed him, and Charlie melted, as usual. Rory was all he needed - Rory was all he ever needed - and as long as he had him, things would be all right 

"What's for tea?" murmured Rory. 

"Just cold meat from yesterday and a salad." 

"Nothing that'll spoil, then?" 

Charlie grinned. "Not a thing." 

"Come up and have a bath with me then. Scrub my back. We can eat later." 

That was an offer too good to refuse. Charlie kissed his lover and pulled him out of the kitchen. 

~~~~~ 

Sinjin, as Charlie could have predicted, went ballistic at the news. "How can they do that?" he yelled. "We've got to fight this. I'm not having four years of work thrown away." 

"We can't," Liam explained. "We've looked at the contract and they can pull out if the company gets taken over and we're not considered a 'viable product'." 

"We're viable!" 

"Not according to FYT's accountants. Face it, Sinjin, the last album didn't do well, we haven't had a hit single in eighteen months, and we've got sod all for a third album." 

"Hardly surprising since you're all fucking junkies." It was an uncharacteristically bitter comment from Pat, and Charlie had to move fast to prevent Sinjin from launching himself at his friend. 

"Fucking dipstick! You can't talk!" yelled Sinjin. "You and your 'holier than thou' attitude. How many fucking gallons of vodka did you go through? And how many times did we have to find a doctor for you to get rid of your latest dose of the clap? Christ, you'd think you could have remembered to use a condom occasionally." 

"We all got the clap, so don't you start." 

"Not three times in the one fucking tour!" 

"Look, I'm not proud of what I did. But I'm not the one who can't go a day without a fix. I'm not the one whose last song was complete crap on wheels." 

"Oh, what do you know, anyway? You're just the fucking drummer." 

Pat stood up. "Yeah, that's right, Sinjin. I'm just the fucking drummer, and Charlie's just the bassist, and Liam's just the rhythm player. We're all just a backing band to you, aren't we?" 

"Oh, don't get so bloody dramatic about it." 

"Why not? Everyone else in this fucking band's a fucking drama queen, why can't I have a go for a change?" 

"Because no one's going to listen to you, that's why, drummer-boy." 

Pat stood up. "Well, tough shit, sunshine, you're going to listen to me for once. I'm sick of everything being about you. You're just one quarter of the band, like the rest of us." He paused, and gave a bitter laugh. "You're not even that, you know. Charlie and Liam and I started DriveShaft. We could have picked any other guitarist and had the same success. You joined in because you wanted a fast ride to the top. You got it. It's not my fucking fault if you decided you liked the sex and drugs more than the music. Not my fault if you dragged Liam and Charlie after you." 

"They made their own choices." 

"They wouldn't have -" 

"Pat, just leave it," said Liam. "I know you're angry - we're all angry - but this isn't going to help us get the band back on its feet. We need to plan." 

Charlie nodded. "We've got to get some venues sorted. We've got to get back onto the club circuit." 

"What about a new label?" asked Sinjin. "We've done the fucking clubs. I don't want to go backwards." 

"We can search for a new label as well, but we've got to get out there and start earning some money. We'll get a much better deal if we can show we've got an audience, if we can still cut it live." 

Pat grimaced. "Just as well I never sold the van then." 

Charlie grinned at him, thankful that at least one of them could still make a bit of a joke. "Aye, it is. Still got that inflatable mattress too?" 

"No, I left it in the garage and it perished." 

"Sad. Could have saved on hotel bills." 

"We'll just have to go back to driving through the night, like we used to." 

Charlie nodded. "That was fun, sometimes." 

"Unless it was too cold." 

"You never did get that bloody heater fixed, did you?" 

"Nope. Should have, though. Might need it come Christmas." 

"Yeah." 

They talked a while longer, but there was little real progress. Pat and Charlie were happy to go back on the road for a while; Sinjin wanted them to sign with a major international label immediately; and Liam ... well, Liam was being very cagey about what he wanted, and that made Charlie suspect he had his own agenda. 

Finally Pat and Charlie decided to go and have a look at the old van and see what needed to be done to get it into shape. It was still in the shed at Pat's parents' house, and Charlie shook his head when he saw it. The tyres were flat, there was rust around the doors, and the MOT disc was two years out of date. 

"It's a heap of junk, Pat, you know that." 

"Always was. But she ran well. As long as she can get us from here to Leeds that's all we need for now." 

"Aye." 

Pat chuckled. "You're starting to sound like him, you know." 

"Who?" 

"Rory. You're saying 'aye' again." 

Charlie shrugged. "Hardly surprising. As long as you understand, what's the difference?" 

"No difference." 

"Well, then, what's your problem?" 

Pat laughed. "Don't come the drama queen with me, Charlie. I was just commenting, that's all. Now are you going to give me a hand to fix up the van so we can get to any gigs that we manage to arrange?" 

"Sure. What do you need?" 

Pat pulled up the bonnet and the door, and grimaced as he looked at the mess inside. "De-greaser, oil, anti-freeze, de-rusting agent, steel wool, detergent, wax, something to fix the vinyl, new windscreen wipers, new battery, new tyres ... and that's just for starters." 

"Wow. It's going to take a bit of work." 

"Yeah, but it'll be fun, right? Just like old times." 

Charlie had to laugh at that. "Yeah, Pat. You and me and a bunch of dreams. Just like old times." 

As Charlie drove home, he became more pessimistic. It was all very well to say it was just going to be like old times, but it wasn't really. They'd had a taste of the big-time, and it was going to be damned hard to go back to the way they'd lived before, hand-to-mouth, desperate for a gig that would pay them in cash and not just in beer. He'd got used to the money that Rhythm Records had given them; they all had. He liked wearing designer clothes and jewellery and getting his hair tinted every few weeks and driving a fast car and pulling a gold credit card out of his wallet. He liked not worrying about how much money there was in his account. He liked being ushered into the hottest clubs in London and Manchester. He liked being a rock star. Fuck it, he _loved_ being a rock star. When he was up on stage in front of ten thousand fans he felt like god almighty. It was as good as an orgasm. It gave him a rush almost as good as heroin. 

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. He had money in the bank, sure, but how long would it last? Even if he was living rent-free, there was still his share of the expenses to pay, and he seemed to be spending more and more on the heroin with every month that passed. He'd have to give it up sooner or later, he knew that, but he didn't think he ought to do it right now - it was helping him get through the difficult times, after all. 

He got home and parked the car, giving it a gentle pat as he got out. He'd bought the vintage MG after the second tour, when money seemed to be pouring over them like a waterfall, and he loved driving around in it with the top down, seeing the admiring glances from the corner of his eye. It would be a real pang to have to part with it, but the insurance was ferocious, and if they didn't get and gigs he couldn't really justify it. 

He snorted. Of course they'd get gigs. They were a band and bands played gigs. He was just worrying over nothing. 

  
**4.2 Bombshell**

_August 2002_

Charlie had thought that he'd have plenty of time to sort out his problems, but, as it turned out, time was more limited than he'd expected. 

They'd managed to scrape up a couple of gigs, driving themselves to Leeds in the van (and of course it had broken down, and of course it was raining) but they seemed to have lost a little of the magic. The crowd was OK but not fantastic, Liam's voice was showing the strain, and one of the strings on Sinjin's guitar had snapped halfway through a song, sending him into an apoplectic rage that almost had him throwing the guitar into the audience. Liam managed to pass it off with a smart quip and kept them entertained while Sinjin grabbed another guitar and double-checked the tuning, and then they simply went onto the next song in the set. 

Afterwards, Sinjin vented his anger on everyone in the vicinity. He snarled at the handful of fans who'd come around to see them, and refused to give them his autograph, even after Charlie had tried to cajole him into it. 

"Sorry about that," murmured Charlie as he signed the girls' CD covers, taking them from Pat and handing them to Liam in turn. "He hates it when his equipment plays up." 

One of the girls - she must have been all of sixteen, and how she'd managed to get into the club to start with was a mystery - had tears in her eyes, but her friend tried to shrug it off. "We came down from Newcastle for this … but I guess there'll be another time. We'll just have to try again. Thank you for signing them tonight anyway." 

Liam looked up at them, an odd expression in his eyes. He signed his name with a flourish, then collected up all the CDs and walked into the tiny space the band had been using as a green room. 

Pat and Charlie exchanged puzzled looks, then stayed chatting with the girls until Liam reappeared a couple of minutes later, with all the CDs now bearing Sinjin's autograph. The girls were suitably impressed, and cheerfully accepted a kiss on the cheek from Liam as well. They walked away with stars in their eyes and broad smiles on their faces. 

"How did you manage that?" asked Charlie. 

Liam shrugged. "I took a leaf out of your boyfriend's book and told him I'd break every single one of his guitars if he didn't sign." He ran a hand through sweaty hair. "It was no big deal, and those girls might never see the band again." 

"What's going on, Liam?" asked Charlie, suddenly suspicious. 

"Nothing," Liam responded, automatically. "They were just sweet girls, that's all." 

"You didn't even try to pull them," Charlie pointed out. 

"Yeah, well, I'm an almost-married man now, aren't I?" He turned away abruptly and began to load his equipment into the back of the van. 

Charlie and Pat shrugged at each other and joined in. Sometimes there was just no point in trying to work out what Liam was thinking. 

~~~~~ 

They were at rehearsal a couple of days later when Liam dropped his bombshell. 

Charlie had managed to come up with a bit of a melody, but was having problems fitting any lyrics to it. He was at the rehearsal space an hour early, trying to concentrate on the words that hovered elusively just beyond his awareness. Pat joined him and they jammed around a bit, working out a few harmonies and rhythms and generally having a good time when Sinjin turned up. His temper was marginally better than it had been two nights before, and he listened to Charlie's new work and even made a couple of suggestions that Charlie thought useful. There was the faint - very faint - possibility that this song might actually get finished, and that made him feel a lot more confident about things in general. 

When Liam arrived - a few minutes late as usual - they started to rehearse, getting through their core set in short order and working on a couple of the newer songs in more detail. They stopped when Pat pleaded exhaustion, and sat around drinking the beer that Charlie fetched from the off-licence. 

"We did good work today," he said, chucking the bottle into the bin. "So, when's the next rehearsal? Tuesday?" 

"What's the fucking point?" asked Sinjin. "We've got no gigs and no recording to rehearse for." 

"I could have this new song finished by next week - that was great, what you suggested, by the way - and then we'll have something new for the next gig. That should get a bit of interest." 

"What next gig?" asked Pat. 

Charlie flung his hands up in the air. "Whatever gig we manage to get booked! I don't know - maybe we can do a 'surprise' guest spot at Sonja's, or Lot 33." 

"Not Lot 33," said Sinjin. "I told that cunt of a manager that I wouldn't play there again if I was starving after what they did last time. Cost me fifty quid to get that guitar repaired. Sodding gits." 

"That was three years ago," Pat pointed out. "And it's still a good venue." 

"No," said Sinjin flatly. 

"Well, where else can we play? What venues are right for us now? Who has vacancies in the line-ups?" 

"We need a sodding manager," grumbled Charlie. "Someone to do all the legwork. Someone to man the phone and sort out the details." 

"You volunteering?" asked Sinijn, with a sneer. 

"No way," he responded quickly. "I meant we should hire a manager.' 

"We can't afford to," said Pat. 

"We can't afford not to - we've got to get gigs or we won't have any income." 

"Yeah, but we don't want to be pissing money away if we can help it." 

"It's new songs we need, not gigs," Sinjin stated. "With an album's worth of new songs, we could get a new contract." 

"Without gigs we'll just fall off the radar and no one will be interested in buying the new album." Charlie wasn't giving up. 

"No one's going to listen to us anyway if we just play the same old shit at every gig." Neither was Sinijn. 

Charlie felt his temper rising and was about to rip into Sinjin for his pig-headedness when he felt the touch of Pat's hand on his arm. 

"Look, we're all getting too worked up over this," Pat said, trying to defuse the argument. "You're both right. We need gigs and we need new songs. I say that we take a couple of months off, get some rest, write a few songs and come back in the autumn when the Uni circuit starts again. In the meantime I'll see what I can do about getting up some gigs for October - Melissa will help, I'm sure. And maybe we could look at some of the festivals for next summer." 

"I hate fucking festivals," grumbled Sinjin. "No hotel for miles, fighting for stage space and thousands of drunken yobbos throwing cans and screaming at us because we're not Radiohead or Coldplay." 

"Well, it's better than nothing," insisted Pat. "We've got to get our audience back." 

"Do you think we've got a chance at Glastonbury?" asked Charlie. "They get a lot of publicity. Or Rock Ness maybe." 

"Guys," said Liam, quietly. His tone was unusually serious, and all three turned to look at him. "Before you start making too many plans for next year, I think I ought to tell you - well, I was talking things over with Karen, and she spoke to her father and … he's offered me a job." 

"That's great!" said Pat. "I know you've been worried about the baby." 

Charlie wasn't so sure. "Where?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft. 

Liam looked down at his feet. "Sydney." 

"What?" Sinjin, incredulous, practically jumped to his feet. 

"No, you can't!" Pat was despairing. 

"Oh, he can," Charlie pronounced. No wonder Liam had made Sinjin sign those CDs. No wonder he'd been so cagey - he must have been planning his defection for weeks. Charlie was at once despondent, disgusted and relieved. 

Liam put his hands up, as if to ward off any attacks. "Look, guys, I know it's a bit of a shock, but I couldn't turn him down. I've got the baby to think of now." 

"But what about us?" Pat almost wailed. "What about the band?" 

Liam shrugged. "The band's finished, guys. You know that." 

"It's not fucking finished," Pat protested. 

"It is, Pat." Liam shook his head. "Since we were dropped we've managed to score all of two lousy gigs, and one of those was a complete disaster. No one wants to know us. No one wants to listen to us. We might as well face it - DriveShaft is dead." 

"And so you decided to bail out." Charlie's voice was flat. 

Liam shrugged again. "Well, yeah. Like I said, I've -" 

"Yeah, you've got the baby to think of," Charlie interrupted him. "Noble Liam, thinking only of the dear sweet baby. No fucking thought for the three people he's leaving behind. No thought for the three people who depended on this band for their livelihood." 

Pat stood up and put and arm out. "Easy, guys," he said. "No fighting in the rehearsal room, remember?" 

Charlie gave Liam a disgusted look and turned away. "Yeah, I remember." He picked up his guitar and unplugged the leads. 

"What are you doing? I thought we were going to run over that new one again?" asked Pat. 

Charlie didn't even pause. "What's the point? Liam's right, the band's finished. We might as well pack up and go home." 

Pat looked around at them, his face incredulous. "So that's it? All over without any of us realising? Don't we even get to play one farewell gig for the few fans we have left?" 

"So they can laugh at us?" asked Charlie, bitterly. "So they can ask us how it feels to go from number one to zero in less than two years?" 

Sinjin finished his beer and threw the bottle against the wall. It smashed, sending shards of glass flying. Charlie stared - Sinjin looked more angry than Charlie had ever seen him - his face was bright red and his chest was heaving. 

"What the fuck did you do that for?" asked Pat. 

"Because I've just wasted five years of my life with you! Fuck!" He rounded on Liam. "You and your fucking family issues! Now I have to start all over again and it'll take me years to get back to the top." 

Liam took a step back. They were all familiar with Sinjin's temper, but he'd never seemed so vicious before. "Look, man," he started, raising his hands, but Sinjin cut him off. 

"Don't you 'look, man' me, you cunt. How long have you been planning this? When did you get this fucking job offer?" 

Liam was backed up against the wall, and looked nervous. "About - about three weeks," he said. 

Sinjin punched him in the gut and watched him stagger back against the wall, before turning away. He grabbed his guitar, threw it and the cables into the case and walked out without a backward glance. 

Charlie and Pat looked at each other in shock. They'd had some bust-ups before - that very memorable night in Perth, for example (and how they'd managed to keep that out of the papers he had no idea) - but never this bad, and never between Sinjin and Liam. 

Charlie went over and helped Liam to sit up. He was almost as angry with him as Sinjin, and for the same reason, but blood was blood, and he wouldn't let his brother lie retching on the floor when he could help. 

"Fuck!" Liam said as soon as he could breathe well enough. "What the hell did he do that for?" 

"For fuck's sake, Liam! You just told him that you're moving to the other side of the world. Any hope he had of resurrecting the band is dead and buried. Of course he's pissed off. We all are." 

Liam shrugged, then winced. "Sorry." 

"Yeah, right." Charlie turned away and went back to packing up his guitar. "You're OK and that's all you care about." 

"Look, it wasn't like that." Liam got to his feet and leaned back against the wall. 

"No?" 

"It's complicated," he sighed. "Karen has to go back to Australia because her visa expires at the end of the year. We tried to get her another extension, but they don't think we'll succeed. So that means if we're to be together, I have to move to Australia, only their rules are just as tough. I needed to have a job offer in order to get the resident visa, so Karen talked to her father." 

"Does he know about the drugs?" asked Pat. 

"Fuck, no. I made Karen promise not to tell him until I'm over there. There are clinics in Sydney I can go to. I'll deal with it, no problem." 

"You'd better. I doubt he'll want a junkie for a son-in-law. Not to mention the authorities would probably deport you." 

"Oh, shut it, Charlie. I can do without your crap." 

"What about the wedding? You'd better not be planning to have that in Australia. Mum'd kill you." 

"No, the wedding will be here, in November, like we planned. It's all booked, it would cost us money to pull out now. And we're honeymooning in Cairns anyway, so we'll head down to Sydney at the end of it." He bit his lip. "Actually ... Wayne's solicitor said it would be easier if we were already married when we put in my application, so we got a special licence and got married in London last week. Don't tell Mum though - she's been planning the church wedding for months." 

Charlie stared. "You got married in secret?" 

"Just so the paperwork could go through. It's not like it makes much of a difference. The visa should be through in a couple of months, so we'll have the big ceremony in November, and then we'll go." 

Charlie closed his eyes. There was no use arguing. It was clear to him that Liam had made the mental separation from the band weeks ago, and there obviously wasn't any point in trying to get him to change his mind. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak without sparking off another argument, and continued packing up his gear. The band was dead, that was now a reality, and he grieved for that, but Liam would be on the other side of the world, far away from Charlie and Rory, far enough away that they need never see each other again, and that could only be a good thing. 

~~~~~ 

Pat dropped him off at the flat, and he immediately went out for a run. He was too angry to do anything constructive and he had to burn off some of the adrenaline that was raging through him before his did something messy. 

How the fuck could Liam just walk away from everything they'd done in the last five years? How could he turn his back on the music? How could he leave them? How could he leave the band? And how in hell could he get married and plan to emigrate without even telling anyone? Charlie just hoped that his mother never found out, because she'd be devastated. 

He arrived back at the flat weary and footsore, a little calmer but no nearer to reaching a solution than he had been at the start. He could go solo or he could start a new band - they were the only options in front of him, and neither of them looked like a winner. He had never been a prolific writer, and in the last twelve months he'd only written two songs. The one he'd been working on that morning had been the first positive thing he'd done in months ... and even then, he could tell it wasn't going to be that good. 

He stripped off his sweaty clothing and stepped into the shower, turning the temperature down a little, revelling in the feel of the cool water against his skin. He still felt hyped up and twitchy, and not in the way that meant he need more heroin. He needed ... well, he needed a good hard shag, that's what he needed. That would settle him down. 

Yes, definitely. He refused to let himself dwell on the day's disaster any longer, and started to plan a surprise for his boyfriend. By the time he stepped out of the shower, now thoroughly clean and smelling of sandalwood and spices, he was smiling, his mind racing ahead to what the evening might bring him as soon as Rory got home. 

He debated the merits of phoning Rory to get him worked up before he even left the office versus the risk that a worked-up Rory might cause a car accident on the way home. On balance, he figured he could achieve the same effect more safely by greeting Rory while wearing nothing but pair of red lace panties. He didn't really care for cross-dressing as such, but he liked the feel of lace on his skin, especially tight women's panties that pressed against his cock. Since Rory enjoyed ripping them off, it was a good option, and likely to lead to some vigorous and voracious sex. 

He made sure that he was fully prepared (resisting the urge to bring himself off then and there) and that there was a tube of lube stashed in close proximity to every shaggable surface. Then he sat down on the settee and picked up the novel he was reading. 

He didn't have to wait long. Rory must have left a little early, because it was just on six o'clock that Charlie heard the keys in the door. He shoved the novel under the settee, and called out, "In here, love," as Rory closed the front door. 

He knew that he looked damned good, laid out like this with one hand behind his head and the other playing with a nipple. He saw Rory's eyes widen and his breath catch, and heard the rattle as Rory's keys hit the floor. 

"Is this a special occasion?" asked Rory as he advanced, slipping his jacket off and laying it over the back of the armchair. 

Charlie shrugged. "First day of the rest of my life, and all that," he said. "Thought I'd like to celebrate it with my boyfriend ... my very sexy, slightly kinky boyfriend." He ran a finger up his lace-covered cock, not even attempting to suppress the shiver it induced in himself. 

"Slightly kinky? I'm not the one dressed in women's underwear." 

"But you're the one who likes me to wear it." 

"Aye, very true." Rory had been undoing his shirt buttons as he spoke; now he pulled the shirt out of his trousers and dropped it on the carpet. He unlaced his shoes, toed them off, and then quickly divested himself of trousers and socks. Naked, he approached the settee, his erection showing how keenly he appreciated Charlie's state of undress. 

Charlie sat up and swung around, ensuring that his mouth was at just the right level. With one hand he took hold of Rory's cock, while the other went around behind his buttocks, pulling him in gently. He gave a soft kiss to the head, teasing it with his tongue, then slowly took it in. 

Rory sighed and moved his hips forward. "Jesus, lad, this is some celebration." 

Charlie laughed, but didn't move, allowing the vibrations to travel through Rory's cock. He pulled back, increasing the suction, and moved his other hand between Rory's legs so that he could fondle his balls. He loved the slightly sweaty smell of Rory in the afternoons, and breathed in deeply. 

Rory pulled himself out after another minute and pushed Charlie back against the settee. Kneeling down, he rubbed his face against the lace-covered groin, nuzzled his way up the shaft and then licked around the head that protruded over the top of the panties. Charlie squirmed, but Rory held him tightly by the hips, and teased him with tiny licks and nibbles. With one thumb and forefinger, he stroked Charlie's balls, held tight against his body by the fabric, and then ran lazily up and down the shaft. The sensation was multiplied a hundred-fold by the slightly scratchy friction of the lace, and Charlie groaned and twisted, trying both to get away and get closer. 

"Turn over," ordered Rory, and Charlie hurriedly turned to face the back of the settee, spreading his legs and sticking his bottom out. Rory's hands roamed over his legs and groin, brushing over the hairs on his inner thighs, his fingers sneaking under the lace, pulling the fabric and causing even more pressure on his cock and balls. 

"Love seeing you like this," he whispered. "Love seeing you tarted up and eager for me." 

"I love feeling you inside me. Do you think that's going to happen anytime soon?" 

Rory laughed. "Very soon." 

Charlie felt the head of Rory's cock pressing up against him, through the fabric, and pushed back. The lace was too taut though, and, wriggle as he might, he couldn't impale himself as he wanted to. 

He could hear Rory laughing softly behind him and growled, "Hurry up, I fucking want you, now!" 

Rory pulled away and gave him a gentle slap on the bottom. "Don't move, I'll be back in a minute. Where's the lube?" 

"Everywhere." 

"Where?" 

"Under the cushions." Charlie nodded to one corner of the settee. He stared over his shoulder as Rory grabbed the lube and disappeared. He heard kitchen drawers being flung open, and muttered cursing, before Rory returned, his cock wet and glistening and bearing a pair of scissors in his hand. Charlie realised what he was going to do with them, and smiled broadly. 

Rory snipped a hole in the crotch of the panties and thrust his fingers in, tearing the fabric and enlarging the hole. "Are you prepped?" he asked, his voice husky. 

Charlie nodded. 

"Good, because the moment this hole in your knickers is big enough, I'm going to plunge straight into you." 

"Oh, yes, now, please!" Charlie groaned, almost hoarse with pent-up need. 

The scissors were thrown on the floor with a clatter. Rory aligned himself with one hand, gripped Charlie's hip with the other and pushed his way in, past the lace, between his buttocks, past the ring of muscle and deep into his body. 

"Oh, that's good," he gasped. 

"So good," echoed Rory, starting to thrust. He reached under Charlie with one hand and stroked him through the lace, creating delicious new ripples of sensation. Charlie was moving erratically, trying to push forward into Rory's hand and backwards onto his cock at the same time. 

"Keep still." 

"Can't." 

Rory pulled out of his body, and Charlie almost wailed, but then Rory pushed him forward, so that his chest was pressed against the back of the settee, and he felt the seat shift as Rory knelt behind him. Rory's cock entered into him again, more slowly this time, and he sighed for sheer pleasure. 

"You like that, don't you," whispered Rory. 

"Yeh-yes," he stuttered, as Rory's cock brushed past his prostate. "Don't stop." 

"I won't." 

Rory started a gentle movement, which annoyed Charlie for a moment until he realised that each thrust was pressing him - and his own lace-covered cock - against the back of the settee. The friction was unbelievably good, especially when combined with the smoothness of leather against the head of his cock, made even more slippery with the pre-come that was oozing out. It was fantastic and he wanted it to go on forever, even as he was telling Rory to speed up. 

Soon, even Rory's iron control gave way to rapid thrusting. The settee was creaking and squeaking at each thrust, the smell of warm leather and sweat and lube was overwhelming Charlie, and with a cry, he suddenly came, arching his back so that his shoulders met Rory's chest. Milky ejaculate trickled down the leather, but Charlie didn't care, he was concentrating on Rory's frantic thrusting until he achieved his own release. 

All strength gone, he sank down and leaned forward, feeling Rory's weight on his shoulders. Rory's arms went around his chest and abdomen, holding them close together, and he felt the touch of lips on the back of his neck. It was a couple of minutes before either of them could move, and then Rory planted a firm kiss between Charlie's shoulderblades and slowly extricated himself, hissing as the lace scraped over newly-sensitive flesh. 

Charlie was no better off - the rubbing of lace against skin, which had been so delightful when he was aroused, appeared to have given him friction burns. He winced as he wriggled his way out of the ruined panties and examined the red marks on his cock. 

"Sorry," said Rory, as he caught sight of the damage. "Are you all right?" 

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Don't think I'll be wearing tight jeans for a few days though." 

"I'll get that burn cream." 

"Thanks." 

"You'd better wipe the mess off the couch before it stains." 

Charlie reached for the tissues, though he couldn't help smiling. "It's leather, it never stains. That's why we like it so much." 

Rory just laughed as he headed for the bathroom. 

~~~~~ 

An hour later, showered and with soothing cream applied to chafed skin, they sat in the kitchen eating the stir-fried beef that Charlie had thrown together. As the euphoria of sex receded, Charlie had become morose again, brooding on Liam's defection and the total lack of a future. 

"What's wrong?" asked Rory. 

Charlie shrugged. He wasn't sure if he wanted to talk about it right now. 

"Liam again? What's the prick done this time?" 

Charlie closed his eyes. He had to tell Rory but he simply found it impossible to say the words. It wasn't as if he feared Rory's response - he knew that any anger would be directed at Liam and not himself - but losing the band meant such a lot to him that he felt choked up. 

Rory reached out and stroked Charlie's hand. "Whatever he's done, I'll make him pay for it." 

Charlie gave a bitter laugh. "It's not that easy," he said. Then he took a deep breath and forced the words out. "He's leaving the band and moving to Australia." 

Rory's hand stilled. "Karen," he said flatly. 

Charlie nodded. "Something about visas. She has to go back to Sydney so he's emigrating. Her father's offered him a job." 

"Generous of him." 

Charlie just grunted. 

"So what's happening with the band? Are you going to try to get another guitarist?" 

"No, the band's dead." 

"Dead? Why? People get replaced all the time." 

"Not DriveShaft. Well, maybe if it was Sinjin - he was the last to join and he was always more Liam's friend than mine. But Pat and me, and Liam, we started this band. It's been our life since we were in school. He can't do this to me!" To his horror he found himself tearing up. 

In a trice Rory was beside him, pulling him to his feet and enveloping him in a hug. "Forget him, Charlie. He's been selfish since the day he was born. You don't need him in the band anyway - find yourselves someone who's got a halfway decent voice and you'll be back in the charts in no time." 

Charlie shook his head slightly. "No, the band's finished. I've just got to get used to it, that's all." 

"Fucking prick. Are you sure you don't want me to pay him a visit? Maybe take Ken along with me?" 

"No, don't - it would only upset Mum. Besides, Sinjin punched him in the guts already." 

"Good for him." 

"Yeah." 

"You've got a home with me for as long as you want, you know. I'm not going to throw you out if you can't pay the expenses." 

"I've got money in the bank." 

"I know, but maybe it'll take you longer than you think to get yourself sorted. I don't want you to worry." 

"I'm not worried." Charlie tried to convince himself it was true. Rory's arms tightened and Charlie relaxed a little, knowing that Rory would never leave him, would never abandon him, and would support him until he found something else to do. He had Rory, and that was enough. He could live without everything else, even the band ... everything except the heroin. But Rory would never know about that. 

He put his head on Rory's shoulder and closed his eyes. Rory would keep him safe. 


	5. Crisis

**5.1 - Meetings and Greetings**

_Wednesday 6th November 2002_

After months of preparation and several days of frantic negotiation, the Paces and the Murphys finally met for the first time at Meg's house, a few days before Liam's wedding. Meg had allowed Karen's family a day to get over their jet lag, but then insisted that they come over for a roast dinner and get introduced to the family. 

Rory came directly from work and found Charlie helping his mother with some last-minute preparations. 

"Hi, love," said Charlie, leaning forward to kiss him while trying not to upset the tray of glasses he was carrying. "How was work?" 

Rory shrugged. "Not so bad." 

"Do you want a drink? You might as well - you're not going to be driving for a while." 

"Aye, though it depends on what your father's got in." 

Charlie's eyes twinkled. "Karen says her father drinks whisky so I made sure he got a decent malt." 

Rory looked at the bottle on the sideboard and raised an eyebrow. He and Mike got on reasonably well, after a fashion, but he couldn't see Mike ever buying an eighteen-year-old Glenmorangie for himself or his son's boyfriend. He must really want to impress Mr Murphy. Still, Rory wasn't one to let an opportunity pass by, so he poured himself a generous measure and wandered through to the kitchen to see if there was anything he could do to help Meg. 

"No, love, everything's under control," said Meg with a warm smile. "They should be here any minute, so the best thing you can do is go and sit down. You too Charlie." 

"What about the gravy?" 

"Biddy can do that as soon as she gets downstairs. Shoo, now. And no snogging on the sofa or your father'll have a heart attack." She wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing to protect her dress and started counting plates again. 

Charlie grinned and gave Rory another quick kiss. "You hear that, love? No snogging on the sofa. I guess we'll just have to use the armchair." 

"It's all right, Meg," said Rory. "I’ll keep him under control." 

At that moment, Mike came into the kitchen, buttoning his cuffs. He looked up suspiciously, but Charlie gave him a look of limpid innocence and brushed past him into the living room, saying, "I'll pour you a drink, Dad." 

Rory nodded a greeting and followed his lover out of the kitchen. Charlie took his father a glass of whisky and hurried back, throwing his arms around Rory and resting his head on his shoulder. "Hey, there," murmured Rory, wrapping his free arm around him. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing. Just missed you." 

"Has your dad been giving you any grief?" 

"Nothing more than usual. I can handle it." 

"Are you sure?" Rory looked at him keenly. 

"I'm sure." Charlie risked yet another kiss and Rory couldn't help holding him close, just for a few seconds. 

A long-suffering sigh from the door brought him to his senses and he hurriedly released Charlie, looking up to see Bridget rolling her eyes as she walked into the room. 

"Honestly, you two," she chided. "Can't you keep your hands off each other for a couple of hours?" 

"Nope," said Charlie with a cheeky grin, giving Rory's backside a fondle, but he disentangled himself and was re-arranging the glasses on the sideboard by the time Mike walked back in, pulling on his shirt collar and looking rather uncomfortable. 

"Are you going to put a tie on?" he asked Charlie. 

"No," Charlie replied promptly. "They're Australian, they won't care. I've got a jacket on, that's all I need." 

"Mr Murphy's a business man, he'll expect a little more formality." 

"I doubt it." 

"Liam will be in a tie," Mike added, obviously in the mistaken belief that Charlie would actually care what Liam was wearing. 

"So? He can suck up to the old man if he likes. I'm not the one who's going to be working for him." 

"Your … Rory's in a tie." 

"Only because I came straight from work," Rory butted in. "It's no big deal, Mike. I honestly doubt that Mr Murphy will care one way or the other." 

Mike grunted. 

The doorbell rang, heralding Liam and Karen, with baby Megan in a carry cot. Liam was wearing a suit and tie, and Rory twitched his lips at the venomous look Mike gave Charlie when confronted with this further evidence of Charlie's deviant nature. Honestly, Rory was tempted to rip his own tie off then and there, but it would look a bit odd, he knew, and would only serve to set Mike's back up even more. All he could do was hope that Mr Murphy arrived in an open-necked shirt - that would show them. 

The baby was sleeping peacefully in her carry cot, and looked positively angelic with her blonde hair and rosebud lips. Charlie cooed over her for a while, brushing her hair and skin with the lightest of touches, and Rory thought that it was just as well that men couldn't get pregnant because he'd never seen anyone as broody as Charlie with a baby. He was also glad that Liam and his family would be leaving for Australia in a week - Rory was in hourly dread of Charlie suggesting adoption. 

Liam and Rory kept to opposite ends of the room, as was their habit, and not even Meg's exhortations could get them to acknowledge each other's presence by more than a nod. 

"Where's Kevin?" asked Liam. "I thought he'd be here." 

Meg took the glass of wine that Charlie had poured for her and took a sip before replying. "Well, he had football practice, and didn't want to miss it, so I said he could stay with the Murrays for the night." 

"So my brother gets booted out to make room for Charlie's boyfriend, is that it?" 

"Liam!" she exclaimed, angrily. "It's not like that at all. He didn't want to be here and he didn't want to miss his football practice. He's only twelve, love, you can't expect him to be interested in a whole evening of adult conversation." 

"I expected him to meet his new relatives." 

"He'll meet them on Saturday. Besides, Tess isn't here either, so it's not as if the Murphys would be meeting the whole family, is it?" 

"When's she coming up?" 

"Friday," Karen spoke up. "She's leaving just after lunch, so she'll be here in the afternoon. We've got rehearsal at 6, then we're having a bit of a hen's night." 

"A hen's night?" repeated Liam in surprise. "I didn't know anything about a hen's night." 

"Relax, love," said Karen, patting his knee. "It's nothing. We're not going out on the town or anything. We're just going to go to the hotel and have a bit of a natter and make sure all the last-minute things are done." 

"Would you like me to look after Megan for you?" asked Meg. 

"Oh no, thanks. It's very kind of you, but honestly, we're not going to get up to any mischief. The baby will be fine." 

The doorbell rang again, and this time it was the Murphy family. Mike hurried out to answer the door, and Rory listened to the usual hubbub from the hall as coats were removed, and then the three of them came into the lounge and everyone got to their feet. 

"Welcome to Manchester, Mr Murphy," said Meg, stepping forward. 

Karen's father was a large man, his face tanned and weathered and his manner a curious mix of laconic and enthusiastic. Rory noted with annoyance that he was wearing a tie - a rather flamboyant paisley, admittedly, but a tie nonetheless. 

"Thank you, but call me Wayne," said Mr Murphy, his accent sounding strange and harsh in the small room. "This is my wife, Jana, and my younger daughter, Samantha." 

Jana was a good-looking woman in her forties, much quieter but no less friendly, with perfectly-tinted hair and the trace of a European accent. Samantha was a quiet girl of nineteen, with blonde hair like her sister's but not quite as pretty. 

"Pleased to meet you," said Meg, shaking hands with Wayne and kissing Jana and Samantha on the cheek. "We've spoken on the phone, of course, but it's so nice to see you in person." 

"It's lovely to meet you at last," echoed Jana. 

Mike had followed the Murphys in, and took over as Meg returned to the kitchen to check on the meal. "Now I see where Karen got her looks," he nodded to Jana, who smiled back. "She's a credit to you both." 

Charlie rolled his eyes at his father's lame comment, but no one except Rory was looking at him, so it went unnoticed. Karen gave her parents a hug, and the Mike introduced the rest of the family. 

"You met Liam yesterday, I understand. This is Charlie, my second son, and his friend Rory." 

Charlie bristled at the suggestion that Rory was just a "friend" and opened his mouth to correct this blatant lie. Rory forestalled him with a kick to the ankle and a meaningful look. He had no idea how the Murphys viewed homosexuality, and there was no sense in antagonising them unnecessarily. They were only going to be here for a few days, after all, and if it suited them to pretend that he and Charlie were just friends, he could live with that. 

Mike had moved on, oblivious to the interchange. "Our youngest boy, Kevin, is staying over at a friend's place tonight but you'll meet him on Saturday." 

Biddy appeared at the door, and Mike pulled her into the room with a broad smile. "And this is Biddy - Bridget, our younger daughter. She's reading languages at Lady Margaret Hall, in Oxford." The pride in his voice was unmistakable. Well, Rory couldn't fault him for that - Bridget was fearsomely bright, and had worked solidly on her A-levels so that she would have the marks to get to Oxford. Rory had no doubt at all that she was going to go far in her life. 

The Murphys looked suitably impressed. Jana asked her which languages she was studying. 

"French, German, and Russian, mainly," answered Biddy, "but I'm also trying to keep up my Italian and Spanish - not really studying them, just conversation classes." 

"That's a lot of work," Jana commented. "What sort of job are you looking for when you finish?" 

"I want to get into interpreting and translation work - at the UN, possibly, or one of the other big multi-national organisations, or maybe a publishing house. There's always a demand for translators." 

"Yes, there is. I did some translation work myself, before I married - I was born in Croatia, you know, when it was still part of Yugoslavia. It can be very interesting." 

"Yes, I love trying to work out how to express the same idea in a completely different language." 

"Now then, Biddy," Mike interrupted before the two of them could settle into a conversation on the nuances of translation work, "let the Murphys sit down and relax. Would you care for a drink? I hear that you like a whisky, Wayne." 

"Yes, I do, though I'll have to take it easy - I'm driving back." 

"And what about you, Jana?" 

"A gin and tonic, please." 

Mike nodded to Charlie, who was standing near the drinks tray. Charlie sighed, but set to work preparing the drinks. 

"And what bout you, young lady?" he asked Samantha. 

"Do you have any Diet Coke?" she asked. 

Mike looked at Charlie in consternation. "Do we have that, Charlie?" 

"Yeah, there's some in the fridge. I'll get it in a moment." 

Charlie disappeared into the kitchen, returning with Jana's gin and tonic and Samantha's Coke, then he handed Wayne his whisky and retreated back to Rory's side. 

There was a short, slightly uncomfortable silence as everyone sipped their drinks and tried to think of something to say. 

"Whereabouts are you staying?" Mike asked, eventually. 

"We've got a serviced apartment in the city," answered Wayne. "I thought it was easier than a hotel, and it has secure parking too." 

"Very convenient." 

"Yes. We thought we'd use it as a base after the wedding, see a bit of the countryside. Jana has an interest in cathedrals, so we thought we'd pop over to York and Durham, and then visit Oxford." 

"I'd be happy to show you around my college," Biddy said. "Just let me know which day you're going to be there." 

"Thank you," Jana said with a grateful smile. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble?" 

"Not at all. It's not a very old college, and it's a little way out of the city centre, but it's lovely." 

Wayne took another swallow of his whisky, and asked, "Is young Tessa here?" 

"No," replied Mike. "She has classes on tomorrow that she really can't miss, but she'll be here on Friday. Isn't that right, love?" he asked as Meg appeared. 

"That's right," confirmed Meg. "I know she's looking forward to seeing you both again. She spoke very fondly of the hospitality you showed her when she was in Australia." She smiled warmly. "And now dinner's ready, so Mike will show you to the dining room." 

With the extra leaf set into the dining table it was difficult to get around to the far side, but at least they managed to sit in relative comfort. Meg's seating plan had placed Rory between Karen and Biddy, and opposite Charlie, who was between Jana and Samantha. Rory was pleased with that - not that he was going to grope Charlie under the table, but it was reassuring to be in a position where he could catch his eye before he got bored and said something outrageous. Wayne was to Biddy's left, with Liam opposite, allowing Liam the chance to try and impress his future father-in-law and employer with his social skills. Rory had no doubt that Liam would be at his smarmy best, and wondered how long it would take the down-to-earth Wayne to discover that his son-in-law was about as genuine as a three-pound note. 

Conversation was intermittent during the meal. Samantha was good deal less lively than Karen, but she seemed a nice enough girl. She appeared to be awestruck by being in the presence of two of the members of DriveShaft, and could barely string three words together. Rory and Charlie tried to tease some conversation out of her, but it was an uphill struggle. She did tell him that she had finished training as an enrolled nurse earlier that year, and had been working at an aged-care facility but didn't like it. He father had offered to pay her HECS fees if she wanted to go to university, but she didn't want to go back to full-time study, so she was looking around for another job… or something. Rory caught her looking at Charlie from the corner of her eye and realised exactly where her thoughts were heading. It gave him some wry amusement to know that her efforts were bound to be fruitless, especially as Charlie was oblivious of her interest. 

At least the meal was good. Meg had produced a succulent roast beef with vegetables, preceded by a thick mushroom soup and followed by apple pie and clotted cream. Not particularly adventurous, perhaps, but it was tasty and filling, and the Murphys showed their appreciation by leaving nothing on their plates. Wayne went so far as to take a second serving of the pie, saying it was one of the best he'd ever had. It was extravagant praise, perhaps, but Meg - used to her husband's more moderate approbation - beamed at him and served him another generous portion. 

They moved back into the lounge for coffee. Rory, Charlie and Samantha were the last three out of the dining room, and Rory made a rare exception to his rule against public displays of affection by dropping a kiss onto his lover's cheek in passing. Charlie's smile nearly blinded him, and Rory couldn't help but smile back, even though he knew they were being watched. Samantha looked away in confusion, and Rory's smile broadened with the knowledge of having nipped one more problem in the bud. 

After another half hour of desultory conversation, baby Megan's fussing brought the evening to an early finish, with Wayne and Jana pleading jet lag and opting to leave at the same time as Karen and Liam. Rory and Charlie made their farewells not long after that, and were back in their own flat by half-past ten. 

"Come on, sleepy head," said Rory to a yawning Charlie. "Let's have an early night ourselves." 

"It's not even eleven o'clock yet," protested Charlie. 

Rory grinned and pushed him against the wall. "I didn’t say I wanted to sleep," he pointed out, sliding his hands underneath Charlie's shirt. 

"No?" 

"No. No sleeping for you for quite a while." 

Charlie relaxed and put his arms around Rory's waist. "In that case, I think an early night is exactly what I need." 

**5.2 Wedding Day Blues**

_Saturday 09 November 2002 - Liam's Wedding_

If Charlie hadn't insisted, Rory wouldn't even have gone to the wedding in the first place. He certainly wasn't one of Liam's friends, and the very thought of spending the whole day in the company of Liam, Karen and both their families was enough to send his blood pressure up. He anticipated a thoroughly unpleasant day and, as it turned out, he wasn't disappointed. 

Charlie was nervous, too - well, who wouldn't be? Why Liam had asked him to be best man instead of Sinjin or Jeff, Rory had no idea, but he had, and Charlie had become increasingly agitated as the day approached and he still hadn't written a speech. Eventually Rory had given him a hand and now Charlie was holding the piece of paper with the speech on it, trying to memorise as much as he could. He stood in the middle of the room, trouserless and with only one sock one, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

"You should get dressed. You can read that later." 

"Mmm," replied Charlie, not really registering Rory's comment. 

Rory plucked the piece of paper from his hand. 

"Hey! Give that back! I need that!" 

"You can have it back once you're dressed." Rory pronounced, tucking the paper away in his jacket. Charlie made a grab for it but Rory held his wrist firmly. "Once you're dressed," he repeated. 

Charlie gave a long-suffering sigh and looked around. "All right. Where's my other sock?" 

"Under the bed," Rory nudged it with his toe. 

"How did it get there?" 

"No idea. Probably wanted to escape rather than spend the day wrapped around your smelly foot." 

"I'm not smelly!" 

Rory leaned in and sniffed. Charlie smelled of soap and shampoo and aftershave, which was very pleasant, though not how Rory liked him to smell. Rory preferred him hot and sweaty and stinking of maleness and sex and semen, but there wasn't much chance of that before evening, so he simply smiled, kissed Charlie on the lips and said, "No, you're not." 

Charlie put his hands on Rory's waist and tried to prolong the kiss, but Rory pulled back with a laugh. "Get yourself dressed, eejit, otherwise we'll run out of time and have to go to the church with you just as you are." 

"Don't want to go. Want to stay here with you and shag you six ways to Sunday." 

"You can shag me six ways tomorrow." 

Charlie's eyes lit up. "Promise?" 

"Promise." Rory dropped a kiss on Charlie's nose and bent down to pick up the errant sock. "Now get dressed." 

Charlie sat on the bed and stuck his bare foot out, assuming a fragile and helpless look. "Help me?" 

Rory shook his head, but knelt down and rolled the sock over the pale skin. "There you are, princess." He resisted the urge to run his hands up Charlie's legs - if he started that, they'd never make the wedding. 

Trousers were next, then the waistcoat, and the elegant cravat. Finally there was the jacket - long, grey and beautifully cut. Once it was on, Rory had to exert every ounce of willpower not to throw Charlie onto the bed and ravish him - the morning suit made him look taller, and with the sharp new haircut and his beard trimmed, he looked almost distinguished. 

"You're growling," laughed Charlie. "I must look good!" 

"You'll do." He cleared his throat and checked his watch. "Come on, we really have to go." 

"One more kiss." 

"You'll crease your jacket." 

"Not if you're careful." 

Rory gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "That's all you get until tonight. Now come on." 

Charlie looked around. "Where's my hat?" 

"On the hall table." 

"Where's my wallet?" 

"You can't put a wallet in that jacket." 

"But what if I need to buy something?" 

"Like what? It's a wedding reception, not a pub crawl. They're paying for everything." 

"Wouldn't put it past Liam to make us pay for the drinks." 

"Luckily for us, Liam's not in charge today. I don't see Wayne Murphy being stingy." 

"Me neither." 

"So, come on then." 

"Wish this was our wedding," said Charlie, softly, as they walked down the stairs. 

Rory gritted his teeth. It wasn't the first time Charlie had mentioned marriage (he had more than once suggested going over to Holland, but Rory had refused, saying that there was no point in getting married over there if it wasn't recognised in the UK) and it was unlikely to be the last. And while Rory was quite happy to admit - only in private - that he loved Charlie to distraction, he didn't feel the same compulsive need to have some public and legal commitment. On the other hand, he didn't want to upset Charlie too much, especially not today, so he forced himself to smile. "We don't need a wedding," he whispered. "We've got all we need, just you and me." 

That garnered him another kiss, and he was pleased that Charlie's mood was improving. 

The journey to the Pace family home took only a few minutes but Rory wished it had taken longer; much, much longer. The house was in chaos, and he was tempted to walk straight out and find the nearest pub. Meg's sister and her family had come over from Ireland, and there were strangers everywhere he looked. 

Liam had only just arrived himself. "Have you seen a cufflink?" he demanded of them, clutching his right sleeve. "It's fallen off and I can't find it." 

"No. What does it look like?" 

"Silver, with that twiddly stuff on it." He held out the other one for them to see. "Fuck! Karen'll kill me." 

"Don't you have any other cufflinks?" 

"Yeah, but these were Karen's wedding present to me. If I don't wear them she'll be upset." 

Rory rolled his eyes, but agreed to look for it. 

"The cars are here!" shouted Kevin, who'd been staring out of the window for the last half-hour. 

"Oh, fuck," said Liam, his head on the ground as he searched under the sofa. 

Rory spotted a glint of silver under Mike's chair and wondered if he should point it out to Liam. He certainly wasn't going to crease his suit and pick it up himself. 

Meg came into the lounge and gave a screech of outrage. "Liam! Get up off the floor this instant! You'll get your clothes dirty!" 

"Mum! I'm trying to find my cufflink!" 

Rory decided that he ought to be generous - after all, this was probably the last time he would ever see Liam, and that thought made him very happy indeed. "I think it's under Mike's chair," he said, nudging Liam with his shoe. "I caught a bit of a glint as I walked in." 

Liam twisted his head around to see, and gave a cry of triumph. He scooted over and stuck his hand under the chair, emerging, red-faced and triumphant, with the precious piece of silver in his hand. 

"Come here," ordered Meg, and she deftly fastened his cuff. "There, now. Go and put your coat on and we'll be off." Liam disappeared and she turned to Rory and Charlie. "It's been a madhouse," she said to them. "I swear my own wedding wasn't half so exhausting." She walked out into the hall and shouted for everyone to come downstairs and get ready to leave. 

Rory found Biddy, who was his official 'date' for the wedding, and ushered her out of the door, only to be called back by Meg. 

"Oh, Rory, love, would you mind taking Kevin and Stephen as well? We've run out of cars." 

"No problem, Meg. There's plenty of room." 

"Oh, thank you. Now, boys, behave yourselves, and don't make a mess in Rory's car, all right?" 

"Yes, Mum," grinned Kevin, and scampered off towards the Camry. He was followed by his cousin Stephen, Aunt Bridget's youngest son, who was a year older but no wiser, and Rory hoped that he'd survive the trip. 

~~~~~ 

It was a relief to get to the peace and quiet of the church. Rory sat through the service in silence, looking at the lavish decorations. He could feel the spirit of his stern grandmother stirring and muttering under her breath. To one brought up in the Presbyterian Kirk, the brightly-coloured statues and paintings were a shock, and the very large crucifix behind the altar was enough to put him off his dinner. But he had to admit that it was much more colourful than the bare stones of his childhood experience. 

At least the service had gone pretty well. The bride was on time, the baby stayed quiet and Charlie hadn't flubbed his lines. The rings were produced on cue and the vows were exchanged in clear voices. Rory looked on in sardonic amusement as Liam promised he would be "forsaking all others" for Karen - he had tried to make a bet with Charlie that Liam's fidelity wouldn't last a year, but Charlie, equally sceptical, had refused to take him on. So had Pat. 

The couple took their communion and then proceeded down the aisle. Karen did look lovely, with her blonde hair piled up high on her head, and the veil held in place by a tiara of Swarowski crystals that glinted in the lights. 

Charlie gave Rory a small smile as he followed the happy couple, and Rory returned a reassuring look. Outside, he caught up with Charlie in the few precious minutes between the photos on the steps of the church and the departure of the official cars. 

"You did well," he said, leaning in close but not touching his lover in any way. 

"At least I didn't drop the rings," Charlie sighed. "Can we go home now?" 

"No. You promised your mum you'd go to the reception. You have a speech to make, remember?" 

Charlie groaned and dropped his head on Rory's shoulder. "Don't want to." 

"It's only a few more hours." 

"A few more hours I could be spending with you." 

"It won't be that bad. We'll go as soon as the official dance is over. We'll go straight home and I'll fuck you any way you want." 

Charlie almost melted into his arms at that, but Rory took a step back, saying, "Stand up straight. There are people watching." 

"Oh, for fuck's sake. We're at a wedding! Can't I hug you just the once in public?" 

"No. There are photographers about. We've discussed this." 

"No, we haven't. Every time I try to talk about it you just flatly refuse. That's not a discussion." 

"Look - " 

"I just want to hug you. Is that such a crime?" When Rory didn't answer, he grunted his annoyance and turned away. "Fine. I'll see you afterwards, then." 

Charlie walked over to join his parents, leaving Rory feeling both annoyed and worried. Why couldn't Charlie just be content with what they had? It had worked for three years, so why change things? 

There weren't all that many people outside the immediate family who knew that Rory and Charlie were a couple, and Rory wanted it to stay that way for as long as possible. It was something too private, too personal for him to acknowledge in public. He didn't want anyone else to see how he felt about Charlie. He didn't want anyone else to know that without Charlie he would be a hopeless emotional wreck. He knew instinctively that Charlie was his one weakness, and he rebelled against putting that weakness on display for all the world to see. 

Irritated, he went to find Biddy and the boys and decided to worry about Charlie later, after they got back to the hotel. 

The boys bickered amicably as they got in the car, but were soon complaining that they were hungry. Rory checked his watch. He hadn't been to all that many weddings, but it didn't take Einstein to work out that with the number of guests Liam had invited, it could easily be another two hours or more before the boys got anything substantial to eat, by which time they would be creating mayhem. He pulled off into a McDonalds and ordered the boys a burger each, and coffee for himself and Biddy. 

The boys cheered as he handed them the food. "You're the best, Rory," crowed Kevin, stuffing the hamburger into his face as fast as he could. "Mum never allows us to eat at McDonalds." 

"Well, don't tell her, then. And wipe your face - you've got sauce all over it." 

A scandalised shriek from Biddy stopped Kevin from wiping his face with his jacket sleeve, but paper napkins proved to be an acceptable alternative. A couple of minutes later, all the evidence was disposed of into a nearby rubbish bin and they resumed their journey. 

In spite of their diversion, they were still among the first to arrive. The reception was being held in a hotel near Stalybridge, miles away from the church - another poor decision on the part of Liam and Karen, he thought. He had to concede, though, that even in November the village was beautiful, and at least the parking was easier than it had been in June, when they were looking at venues. 

They presented their invitation cards to the security guards, had their names checked off against the list, and joined the groups standing around, waiting for everyone else to arrive. Kevin pouted briefly when told he couldn't have any champagne, but one sip from Rory's glass convinced him that he wasn't missing out on anything nice, and then he and Stephen raced around the room looking at all the placement cards. 

Rory grimaced at the champagne himself. It was Australian - hardly surprising, given that Karen was from Sydney - but it was heavily wooded and tasted almost acid. He swapped it for a beer at the first opportunity. He longed for a whisky, but he figured that was out of the question unless he bought it himself - which he still might, if the afternoon turned out to be as tedious as he anticipated. 

The room started to fill up as guests trickled in, but it was over an hour and a half later before the official party arrived. Charlie made a beeline for Rory and grabbed the beer out of his hand, draining it in one gulp. He looked frustrated enough to scream. Rory decided that the situation was dire enough to risk a little physical contact, and he let his hand linger over Charlie's as he took back the glass. 

"So what kept you?" he asked. 

"Bloody Karen and her bloody photos," growled Charlie. "She didn't like the ones from outside the church, and the magazine wanted something more _romantic,_ so we ended up in some park a few miles away, and stood freezing our balls off while she posed against every tree in the fucking park. I think we'd still be there if the baby hadn't started acting up and Mum put her foot down." 

"So is she happy now?" 

"Not entirely. I heard her arranging for them to bring the prints over to the hotel in the morning so she can go over them." 

Rory gestured to a passing waiter and picked up two beers. "Here," he said, handing one to Charlie, "have one of your own." 

"Thanks," muttered Charlie, taking a gulp. "How much longer?" 

"Three or four hours, I should think." 

"Fucking Christ Almighty. I'll never make it." 

"Yes, you will. Just don't get so drunk you fall over, or throw up all over the bridesmaids' dresses." 

"The way I'm feeling, throwing up would be an improvement." 

Concerned, Rory looked closely at him. "Are you OK?" In fact, he didn't look well. His skin was pale and his eyes were dull. "I'll take you home the minute Liam and Karen have left." 

"You could take me home now." 

"You've got a speech to make, remember? And a dance with each bridesmaid." 

"I'm not dancing with Tess." 

"You'll still have to dance with the other one, Karen's sister - what's her name, again?" 

"Samantha." 

"Right, Samantha. And then I'll take you home." 

"Promise?" 

"Promise." 

Biddy came up to them and linked her arm through Rory's. "Time to take our seats." 

Rory looked around and saw that people were starting to drift into their assigned places. The sensible ones (himself included) had checked the seating plan at the door; the clueless ones were wandering around from table to table, trying to find the elusive card with their name on it. He gave Charlie a gentle push in the direction of the top table. "Go on and sit down, love. It'll all be over before you know it." 

"I bloody well hope so." 

~~~~~ 

Rory and Biddy were sitting at a table with the other two members of the band and Jeff, one of Liam's friends from school. Rory hadn't met Jeff or his wife before, but he knew Patrick's girlfriend Melissa - a cheerful brunette who adored her fiancé, and laughed at all his jokes without fail. Sinjin was accompanied by a willowy blonde who introduced herself as Sapphire and whose attention was fixed on Liam more than on her date. Rory surmised that she had only deigned to come here in order to be able to say she'd attended Liam Pace's wedding, and smiled inwardly - he'd never particularly cared for Sinjin anyway, and seeing him get more and more frustrated with his date's lack of attention was amusing. Jeff's wife Cory was heavily pregnant and looked tired, but she seemed to rally after she'd eaten, and made an effort to smooth over the ill-humour that Sinjin was broadcasting. 

Jeff and Cory assumed that Rory was Biddy's boyfriend, which neither of them denied. There was only one sticky moment, when Sapphire asked how the two of them had met, but Biddy simply smiled and said that she'd met Rory at her brother's birthday party a few years ago (which was quite true) and that things had progressed from there (which was not). She showed no hesitation or self-consciousness as she rested her hand on Rory's arm for a moment, and Rory made a mental note to buy her a book token from Waterstone's in gratitude. Luckily neither of the two band members contradicted Biddy's story, and the conversation moved on. 

The next two hours passed very slowly. The food was good, but the service was slow, and Rory found himself growing more and more impatient as the afternoon went on. He kept an eye on Charlie, wedged between Karen's mother and Samantha at the top table. He really didn't look well, and Rory decided that he'd relent and take him home after the speeches. The last thing this day needed was the Best Man barfing all over the dance floor. 

"If you don't want anyone to know about you and Charlie you'd better stop looking at him," murmured Biddy. 

"I wasn't," he said automatically, then felt a stab of anxiety, but her voice had been low, and no one else at the table appeared to have noticed. 

"You were. And if I noticed it, then probably other people did too. Turn around and look at me for a while, will you?" 

Rory sighed inwardly, but he couldn't argue with her logic, so he turned his back to the top table and listened intently to Sinjin's plans to record a solo album based on the material he'd written during the last few months, and the offer he'd had from an old friend to write the music for a new independent film. 

With Pat negotiating to do some session work, that left only Charlie with no prospects, and Rory meditated on the unfairness of life when the one member of the band with any talent was left to languish while all the others moved on. He could only hope that Charlie took up a solo career or found another band soon, before he sank too far into depression. 

**5.3 - An Unwelcome Discovery**

It was quite a while later, when Rory finally looked back to the top table and saw that both Liam and Charlie were absent, that he felt the first forebodings of disaster. "Did you see where Charlie and Liam went?" he hissed in Biddy's ear. 

She glanced at the table herself and shook her head. "No. They can't be far, though." 

"I have a really bad feeling about this," Rory muttered, pushing his chair back. "I have to find Charlie. He wasn't feeling well, earlier." 

"I'll come with you." She stood up. 

"Where are you two off to, then?" asked Sapphire. 

"We're going to take a short stroll down a dark corridor," said Biddy with a demure smile, and took Rory's arm as they walked out of the reception room, ignoring the cat-calls behind them. "And don't say I'm never nice to you," she added for Rory's benefit as they left the room. 

"I owe you one," Rory said, sincerely, and mentally doubled the amount of the book token he'd promised her. "Now, where could they have got to?" 

They weren't in the toilets, or in the gardens, and Rory was starting to get seriously worried when Biddy suddenly thought of something. 

"They might be in Liam and Karen's room," she said. 

"What room?" 

"They booked a room here so that they can get changed into their going-away outfits." 

"Well, which room is it?" 

"I don't know. Hang on a minute, I'll ask Tess." She raced away and returned a couple of minutes later, saying, "Room 25. Apparently it's just up the stairs and to the left." 

They hurried up the stairs and found Room 25 on the left, just as promised. Rory rapped loudly on the door. From inside they heard a muffled cursing and the sound of something being knocked over. Rory knocked on the door again, more loudly. "Charlie? Are you in there?" 

Liam opened the door. "What do you want?" 

"Where's Charlie?" 

"Why?" 

"I want to check on him. He's not well." 

"He's fine. Now go back to the others." 

"I want to see him." 

"Let it go, Rory. He's fine. Just leave him be." 

"What are you hiding?" 

"Nothing. Now fuck off." 

"No. Let me in." 

"No." 

"Rory?" The faint sound of Charlie's voice sent Rory into action, and he had pushed through the door and past Liam before the latter had time to react. Charlie was sitting on the bed in his vest, his head lolling against the wall. His voice was dreamy as he smiled at his lover. "C'mere, Rory. I want to fuck you." 

"What's wrong, Charlie? Are you feeling OK?" 

"Mmm ... I'm fine. You're fine. Love you." He tied to reach out for Rory but the effort was too much for him, and he started to slide sideways, off the bed. 

Rory caught him and held him up. "You're not fine, love. You're not well at all." He wondered if Charlie had a fever, but his forehead was cool. His voice was slightly slurred and his eyes - there was something wrong with his eyes. Rory looked more closely, and saw that the pupils had shrunk to tiny dots. Horrified, he looked down at Charlie's arms and saw the spot of blood at the crease of the elbow and the red mark where an improvised tourniquet had been applied. 

Charlie was on drugs. His mind reeled as he worked it out. The lassitude, the pupils, the injection marks - heroin. It had to be heroin. Charlie was on heroin. Rory felt like vomiting as he realised the reason behind Charlie's evasiveness, his odd moods, his inexplicable lack of money recently - he was a drug addict. 

He was a fucking drug addict. 

"He'll be OK in a minute," Liam said from over his shoulder. "I think my stuff's a bit stronger than his, that's all." 

_"My stuff" ... Liam's stuff_ \- Rory felt the world turn red as a wave of rage rose within him, primal and overwhelming. It was Liam's fault. Liam had been supplying Charlie with heroin. It was all Liam's fault. It was _always_ Liam's fault. 

Without even thinking about it, he surged off the bed and punched Liam in the gut, following that up with a left hook to the head and then a knee to the face as Liam doubled over in pain. He grabbed a handful of Liam's hair and pulled him back for another punch. 

"What the fuck have you done to him, you fucking scum?" he snarled. 

Liam didn't answer. He coughed and retched but couldn't control his breathing enough to speak. He shook his head, weakly, but that only served to inflame Rory more. He twisted Liam's arm around behind his back and forced him to the floor, pressing his knee against the spine for greater torque. 

He felt a hand on his arm and shrugged it off. He was going to kill Liam, and to hell with the consequences. 

"Rory, don't. Please!" It was Biddy, trying her best to pull him off her brother, but she couldn't shift him as much as an inch, and Rory didn't even acknowledge the interruption. 

"I'm going to fucking _kill_ you. What have you done to Charlie?" 

"No-nothing!" gasped Liam. 

"It's not fucking nothing! What have you given him?" He twisted the arm a little higher up Liam's back and listened with deep satisfaction as his victim grunted in pain. 

"He wanted it!" 

"Fucking liar!" 

"He asked me for it! He's been on it for months!" 

"No!" 

"Fucking yes! Your precious Charlie's a junkie. Get used to it." 

Rory pressed in with his knee and pulled back with his arms. Liam started to yell, "Get off me, you murdering bastard!" 

Then there were strong arms that pulled him up and back, and an angry buzz of voices that he didn't listen to. He squirmed out of the newcomers' arms and went for Liam again, this time dropping onto Liam and taking them both to the floor. Liam gave a very satisfying cry as he hit the floor, face first. 

Then there were more arms, and more angry voices, and he was held firmly and inescapably. Liam was helped to his feet and glared at Rory, blood dripping from his nose. Rory hoped he'd broken it. 

Liam darted forward and punched Rory in the face - not on the nose, since Rory moved too quickly, but on the cheek. A couple of people - Sinjin and Karen's father - grabbed him and hauled him back. 

"Now, now, none of that," warned Mr Murphy. 

"He fucking attacked me!" bleated Liam. "Look at me! He fucking broke my nose!" 

"I'll break your fucking neck!" 

"Quiet!" It was Mike, bellowing out the word in a tone that Rory had never heard before. 

The two protagonists glared at each other, their chests heaving, as the room quietened. 

Meg pushed her way through the crowd of people and looked at the two of them. "What is going on here?" 

Neither of them answered for the moment. Then Liam said again, "He attacked me!" 

Meg looked at each of them in turn. "Is that true?" 

"Yes." 

The uncompromising reply seemed to astonish her - and the others who were avidly listening in. "Why?" 

Rory gestured to the onlookers. "Not here." He wasn't about to justify himself in front of a bunch of strangers, particularly if it meant revealing that he and Charlie were a couple. He'd explain to Meg and Mike, but no one else. 

Meg, who had by this time taken in the sight of Charlie draped over the covers like a limp dishcloth, nodded. "Liam and Rory - get to opposite sides of the room. I know you both have tempers and I won't have you fighting again. Everyone else - I think that Mike and I can deal with this now." While Biddy ushered the others out, Meg moved to Charlie's side and checked his pulse and his pupils, ignoring his feeble protest. Her mouth pursed into a thin, grim line as she, too, caught sight of the needle mark in his arm. 

Rory shrugged himself out of the imprisoning grip and went to his lover, sliding an arm underneath his shoulders and lifting him up. Charlie was limp but not unconscious, and he turned his head into Rory's shoulder, murmuring "You're warm." 

"Is he going to be OK?" he asked Meg, anxiously. 

"How long is it since he had it?" 

"A few minutes, I think. He was still awake when I came in." 

There was a mild flurry as Karen burst into the room and went straight to Liam. "Are you all right? Someone said Rory attacked you." 

"I'm OK, love," Liam attempted to smile. "Just a little spat between me and Rory." 

She turned around to glare at her husband's attacker, only to see him cradling Charlie. "What's wrong with him?" 

"Your husband gave him heroin." Rory snarled. 

"Liam!" 

"Look, he needed it, all right? He left his stuff at home." 

"He needed it?" asked Meg. 

"He was going into withdrawal. He needed it to get through the rest of the day." 

"Oh, Liam," his mother sighed, as if his words were only confirming what she had suspected for a while - which, knowing Meg, was probably true. "And you ...?" 

Liam nodded, looking defeated. "We're both on it. We've been on it for months - years. I tried to give up, but it's impossible. Karen told me of a treatment place in Sydney that I'm going to try when we get there." 

"And what about Charlie?" 

"He said his stuff had been cut - he wasn't lasting the distance. He wanted some of mine to tide him over until he could get home. I guess my stuff's a bit stronger, 'cause he went a bit funny for a minute there." 

"Should we call an ambulance?" Rory asked. 

Meg shook her head. "I don't think so. He's not unconscious and his breathing's all right. I'll just keep an eye on his obs for half an hour or so. He'll be out of danger by then." 

Rory nodded, letting his breath out. He'd been worried that Charlie might sink into a coma, or start having convulsions. But Meg was a nurse, and if she was satisfied with his condition, then Charlie was probably going to be all right. None of that excused the fact that he was on heroin to start with. He would definitely be demanding an explanation from Charlie as soon as he had recovered. 

For now, he was just thankful that Charlie was alive. 

He sagged back against the bed head, pulling Charlie with him. With Charlie so limp it was a parody of the intimate embraces they'd shared in their own bed, and Rory glared at Liam, standing on the other side of the room, wondering what was going to happen now. His face hurt, and he figured he might be sporting a black eye for a couple of days, but that was nothing to the satisfaction he felt at seeing Liam bruised and bloody. He hoped he had broken the man's nose. He should have killed him. 

Meg went over to her eldest son, and asked Karen to get a wet towel. She cleansed the blood off gently and inspected the damage. "Not too bad, love. I think the nose might be broken but it's not badly displaced. It should heal on its own. I don't think you should fly for a few days, though." 

"I've got to. The flight's booked for Wednesday." 

"Can't you postpone it until next week? Your Auntie Bridie's going home tomorrow, you could stay with us if you don't want to go to a hotel." 

"It's OK, Meg," said Karen. "We'd hate to put you out. We'll stay with my Dad - he has the apartment until the 15th anyway." 

Liam nodded, wearily. "You'd better ring the airline then, straight away, and get the tickets changed." 

Karen pulled her mobile out of her purse and the tickets out of her carry-on bag, and went into the bathroom to make the call. 

Meg, meanwhile, checked Liam's' ribs and shoulder, but there was nothing more than bruising and strains, and she told him to get changed before turning her attention back to Charlie. 

Charlie was starting to perk up a little - he was still very relaxed, but not quite as out of it as he had been when Rory came into the room. He hadn't moved much at all, and was still leaning back on Rory's shoulder, held safely by Rory's arms. 

Meg checked his pupils and pulse again, and though she pursed her lips in annoyance, she didn't seem to be worried about his immediate condition. 

"He'll be like this for a while, I think," she murmured. "But no worse, thanks be to all the saints. He should be all right to go home in an hour or so. Will you be able to watch him, or should I take him home with us?" 

"No, that's all right. I'll watch him - all night, if need be. I've nowhere to be tomorrow." 

"Thanks," she smiled, gratefully. "I've got my sister Bridie and her kids in the house tonight, so it would be difficult, not to say unpleasant." 

"Don't worry, Meg, I'll make sure he's OK. I'll even bring him around for lunch tomorrow if you want to check him out." 

"Thanks, but we'll be taking Bridie and her family to the airport. I'll call in on the way back, if that's all right." She sighed. "I wish she could stay a bit longer, but she has to get back to work." 

Karen came back out and said that the tickets had been changed and would be re-issued. "I'll have to go into the Oceanic office on Monday to pick them up." She made a face at Charlie, as if it was all his fault that she had to go to this extra effort. 

"Thanks, love," said Liam, attempting to smile. "You'd better get back to the reception, or people will be wondering what happened." 

"What about you?" 

Liam shook his head. "I can't go back in there looking like this." 

"Why not?" Rory interjected. "It's an improvement." 

"Rory, you are not helping," warned Meg, and he subsided again, holding Charlie against him like a shield. "Biddy, you'd better ring for some ice. And take it from the door, don't let anyone in." 

"Right Mum," Biddy went to the phone and dialled the room service number. 

"What am I supposed to tell people?" asked Karen, looking worried and upset. "We haven't even had the speeches yet, or the dance." 

"Tell then that Liam's been taken ill, and Charlie too. Something they ate last night," suggested Meg. 

"Like anyone's going to believe that," Karen said, derisively. 

"Well, then come up with something better, if you don't like it!" 

There was silence for a few seconds as everyone tried desperately to think of a story that would explain the sudden departure of the groom and best man from the reception. 

Biddy cleared her throat, and everyone looked at her. "Mum's right - it's the only possible solution, unless you want to come straight out and tell everyone there's been a fight. Charlie doesn't look too bad," she pointed out. "I mean, he looks ill, but he hasn't been fighting. Mum and Dad could help him to the cars through the front, so that people can see him. Rory can get out through a back door - I can bring the car around to meet him, and no one will think it strange if he leaves with me." 

"What about Liam?" 

"Liam doesn't have to go anywhere. The room's booked for the night, so he can lie low. Tomorrow morning, Karen does the check out while he leaves via the back door. As long as no one's lying in wait for them it shouldn't be a problem." 

There was a further silence as they considered Biddy's plan, but no one was able to think of anything better. 

"Right then," said Mike, looking around. "I'll go and make an announcement to the guests." He went out, his tread heavy. 

Rory thought of something else. "I brought Kevin and the other boy - what his name?" 

"Stephen." 

"Right, Stephen. I brought them here in my car, so someone will need to take them home." 

Meg nodded. "We can do that. You two leave first. We'll follow with Charlie and the boys and drop him off at your place." 

"Fine. But I don't think he's fit to be moved yet." 

"Hmm. You're right. We'll give it another half hour or so. You two had better get back to the reception for a while." 

Rory grimaced. He didn't want to leave Charlie, not for a minute. 

"I'm not sure we can, Mum," said Biddy. "Rory's cheek is starting to swell." 

Meg looked at him and sighed again. Rory looked back defiantly. He wasn't going to apologise for hitting her son, not now, and not ever. 

There was a knock on the door and a heavily-accented voice saying, "Room service." Biddy hurried over and managed to take the bucket of ice without letting the person outside see into the room. She put the bucket down on the table and tipped some into the napkin that had been wrapped around it, handing it to her mother. She disappeared into the bathroom for a minute and came back with a hand towel, making up another icepack for Rory. She placed it gently against Rory's cheek, and he smiled gratefully at her. 

He let his head fall back against the wall, feeling his energy ebbing away after the adrenaline high. He just wanted to get home. He wanted to forget about this day, forget about everything except being in bed with Charlie. His arm tightened reflexively around his lover, and Charlie stirred and murmured something indistinct. 

Rory's face hardened again. Liam was going to fucking pay for this. He had no doubt that Liam had introduced Charlie to heroin, no doubt at all. Stupid git. He glared at the man sitting across the room and wished that he could kill with a look. 

He wondered if his father had any contacts in Sydney. 

~~~~~ 

Biddy's plan was carried out with military precision and no casualties. 

Charlie had come to his senses after half an hour or so, and had become acutely and horribly embarrassed as he realised that most of his family was in the room and had obviously worked out what was going on. He'd pulled away from Rory and sat with hunched over his head in his hands, avoiding everyone's gaze, until it was time for them to leave. 

Leaving Charlie behind had been one of the most difficult things Rory had ever done. His instinct was to stay close to his lover, to take him home and make sure he was safe, and then to try to sort out this whole fucking mess in private. Instead, he was forced to leave him with his parents and sneak out of the hotel through the back door, where, thank Christ, Biddy was already waiting with the Camry. She handed him the keys, walked around to the passenger door without a word, and remained silent all the way home, for which he was grudgingly thankful. 

They walked up the stairs to his flat, and Rory remembered his manners enough to offer her a drink. 

"Coffee, please," she said, giving him a tentative smile. 

He busied himself with the kettle and two mugs, hoping that the Paces would turn up before he had to make it, but they didn't. He made coffee for Biddy and tea for himself, and he ushered her into the living room to wait. 

"This is nice," she said, gesturing at the room, and Rory realised that she hadn't been in the flat since they'd re-decorated during the summer. 

"Aye, we thought it made better use of the light." 

Not that you could tell, he realised - it was after four, and the light was fading fast. He got up and switched the lights on, then drew the curtains and turned up the heating a little. Charlie would be cold when he got in. 

The intercom buzzed, and Rory pressed the button to let them up. As soon as he heard footsteps approaching, he opened the door and Charlie barged past him. 

"Charlie -" 

"Don't you fucking start. I've had enough from my parents already." 

Charlie headed up the stairs and Rory heard the bedroom door slam. He'd been taken aback by the vehemence in Charlie's voice, and mentally cursed Mike - it had to have been Mike - for stirring Charlie up to the point where a reasoned discussion was out of the question. 

"Sorry," said Meg. She looked exhausted and upset, and Rory felt sorry for her, caught in the middle between her husband and her sons. 

"Mike?" 

She nodded, wearily, then turned to Biddy, who was standing in the doorway of the living room. "Come on, love, we'd better get back." 

"Thanks for the coffee," Biddy said as she left, and Rory nodded. He closed the door behind them and remained there, his head resting against the cool wood, before straightening himself up and facing the stairs. This was going to be unpleasant. 

**5.4 - Discussions and Decisions**

_Sunday 10th November 2002, 7 am_

Rory woke at seven, disoriented and cold, on the settee in the living room. He looked at the ceiling and tried to work out how he'd ended up there. Had he and Charlie fallen asleep watching a movie? He looked at the TV, but it was off, and there was no tell-tale DVD case on the table. 

He sat up and groaned as memory - and pain - returned. He and Charlie had had a flaming argument through the bedroom door, which Charlie had barricaded shut, and he'd come back down and drunk half a bottle of whisky. That, on top of all the beer the day before, had given him a hangover. 

He struggled through to the kitchen and drank a couple of glasses of water as he waited for the kettle to boil, then made a mug of tea and returned to the living room, sitting down with his back against the heater. The tea was hot and sweet and he drank it down gratefully, sending a silent blessing to whatever deity had invented hot tea and space heaters. 

He'd almost dozed off again when he heard the sounds of Charlie clattering dishes in the kitchen. He picked himself up, slowly, grimacing as his joints protested. Christ, he felt old, and never mind that he was only thirty-one. 

Charlie looked like he hadn't slept much either, and Rory allowed him to take the first sip of his coffee before he spoke. 

"How are you?' he asked. 

Charlie shrugged. His eyes were glittering again, and Rory realised that he'd already had taken a dose of heroin this morning. How the hell was he supposed to deal with this? Junkies were scum, trash, refuse to be walked over and ignored. How was he supposed to cope with a junkie in his house, in his bed? 

He felt ill at the thought, and he wanted to hit Charlie for being so fucking stupid. He knew he shouldn't do that, that if he was an addict he should be calm and sympathetic, but he didn't do calm and sympathetic, even when he was in a good mood. Oh god, this was all going to end in disaster. He just knew it. 

"You want some breakfast?" he asked, hoping to establish a little normality. Then he felt his stomach react to the thought of food and realised it wasn't such a good idea. To his relief, Charlie shook his head. 

"Not hungry." 

So much for that. He finished his mug of tea and walked over to the kettle, reaching out for the jar of tea bags. He could just about cope with one more mug. 

"How are you?" asked Charlie, hesitantly. 

Rory paused, and looked out of the window as he spoke. "Tired. Hung-over. Worried." 

"Sorry." 

He heard Charlie put his cup down, and then felt his arms go around him and Charlie's warmth at his back. "I still love you," whispered Charlie. "That hasn't changed." 

Part of him wanted to throw Charlie off and rage at him; part of him wanted to hold Charlie close and never let him go. He settled for not moving and placing his hand over Charlie's. "I love you too," he said, quietly. Charlie rested his head on Rory's shoulder and they stayed there, still and silent, until the kettle boiled and Rory reached for his mug. 

"Come through to the warm," he said, and pulled Charlie with him into the living room. They settled down on the settee, with Charlie sitting down close to Rory and curling himself into Rory's shoulder. 

"Comfortable there?" 

"Mmm." 

It could be worse, Rory told himself, at least Charlie still needed him. Charlie needed him as much as he needed the heroin, and that was a source of comfort to him, even if he couldn't see a way out of this mess at the moment. 

They sat in silence and sipped their drinks, each man caught up in his own thoughts. And if the silence wasn't quite comfortable, at least it wasn't openly hostile. Rory felt Charlie's hand drift over his thigh. He set his empty cup down and turned slightly so that he could see Charlie's face, still pale and drawn. He closed his eyes for a moment, wondering again how he could fix this, fix Charlie, and make everything all right again. 

The intercom buzzed, and Charlie looked startled. 

"It's your mother," said Rory, getting up. "She said she'd call in on the way back from the airport." 

Charlie took on a sullen look and Rory hoped that Mike had had the sense to stay home. 

Apparently he had - Meg came in alone, and looked as if she, too, had spent a sleepless night. She walked over to Charlie and kissed him on the cheek, before sitting down beside him on the settee. 

There was a moment of silence before Rory got up, saying, "I'll make you a cup of tea." He walked into the kitchen and went through the motions mechanically, wondering if Meg would be able to get Charlie to talk. 

When he went back into the living room, Charlie was hunched up in the corner of the settee, with his arms around his knees -a classic posture of defence - and Meg was looking worried and annoyed. 

"It's not that I don't love you," she was saying. "But I can't stand by and see you destroy your life with heroin. I see too much of that at work. I know how it ends, and I don't want that for you." 

Rory set the cup down on the table and took his own seat. Charlie remained silent. 

"Has he told you anything?" asked Meg. 

Rory shook his head. 

"Can you at least tell us how long you've been on it?" 

Charlie gave a small shrug. 

Rory thought back. "About a year, I think," he said to Meg. "He was different when he came back after the world tour, but he said he was just exhausted, so I didn't question it. Then there was all the hassle with the album, and after that it was just one thing after another - Karen, the Eurotour, the band getting dropped. I could see he was different, but there always seemed to be a reason for it. I just put it down to stress." 

"Is he right, Charlie?" asked Meg, her voice soft. "Have you been using for more than a year?" 

Charlie shrugged again. "Sort of," he admitted. "I tried it last year, a couple of times. Tried a lot of things last year." He kept his gaze on the floor. "Didn't really get hooked until we were in Europe, though. They practically threw it at us, and Liam was always such an arse until he'd had his fix, and Sinjin was using too, and I thought, why not? And it felt great. I mean, I always feel like hell on tour, and it helped me sleep, at first, and I didn't get hangovers like I did with alcohol, so I kept on using it." 

"Oh, Charlie," Meg sighed. 

"Look, I'll give it up." 

"Will you? It's not that easy." 

"Look, I can do it, all right? It's not like it's never been done before." 

"How long have you lasted without it? In the last six months, that is." 

"Haven't had to, really. A few days." He shrugged again. "It's no big deal." 

Meg sighed. "It _is_ a big deal. Thousands of people get hooked on heroin and it's one of the hardest to stop." 

"I'll do it." 

"I hope you will." 

"I'll help," Rory volunteered, earning himself a grateful smile from Meg. 

"I'm glad he has you, love," she said. 

"I'll do what I can." 

"I've got a couple of friends who work in the mental health clinic at the hospital. I'll ask them about the local programmes." 

"I'm not going into the Royal," Charlie stated, his voice flatly belligerent. 

"I didn't say that, love," Meg chided, keeping her voice gentle. "I'm just going to ask. I suppose it'll have to be a private clinic. I'm sure there are a few around that are used to dealing with this sort of thing." 

Rory nodded, grimly. "There are plenty of actors and musicians in the same situation. There'll be half a dozen places we can try." 

"Of course there will." 

Meg set her cup down and stood. "Well, boys, I'd better be off home. There's a mountain of washing to do, and Mike will be wanting his dinner early, since he didn't get a cooked lunch." 

Rory got up and showed Meg to the door, kissing her cheek. "I'll see if I can talk some sense into him," he told her. 

"I hope you can," she replied, a little teary. "I just can't believe it. How could he do such a thing to himself? I thought we'd brought them up so well, and then to find out something like this ..." She dissolved into tears, and Rory found himself hold her up while she sobbed into his shoulder. "I just don't want to lose him." 

"I know. Me neither. We'll sort it out. We'll find a clinic or something for him, get him sorted out. Don't worry." 

"I can't help worrying. Sorry to cry all over you." 

"It's all right." He patted her on the back until she calmed down and mopped her eyes. "Sunday lunch next week, then?" he ventured, hoping to give her thoughts a more cheerful direction. 

Unfortunately, his question brought Meg to the verge of tears again. "Mike won't have him in the house," she confessed. 

Rory was shocked. "Is that so?" 

Meg nodded. "He says he has to think of Kevin." 

"Aye, well, I can understand that, but Charlie's his son, too." 

"I know, and I tried to tell him that, but we had the most terrible argument, and Mike wouldn't budge." She started crying again. "They haven't got on since Charlie dropped out of uni. I think Mike thinks that he's failed him, he never got proper qualifications, never got a proper job ..." her voice tailed off, but Rory could supply the rest of it for himself. 

"He still hasn't forgiven him for being gay, has he?" 

Meg shook her head. "He says he doesn't hold it against him, but I think he's still convinced it's just a phase. Like his music." 

"Does the man not see how talented he is?" 

"Not really. He never thought the band would last, you know. I think he was almost glad when they were dropped." 

"Oh, that's sad." He paused. "And what about Liam? Will he let Liam in the house?" 

Meg sniffed. "I've said no to that. If it's fair for one, it's fair for the other." 

"I'm so sorry this has happened. I can't say I'm not glad to see the back of Liam, but I wish it had turned out differently." 

"I think we all wish that." 

She said goodbye and walked off down the corridor. 

Rory closed the door behind her and walked slowly back into the living room. He sat down on the settee, where Meg had sat a few minutes ago. Charlie uncurled himself enough to move close to Rory and huddle up against him. Neither of them spoke, but Rory put an arm around Charlie and stroked his hair. 

Maybe they'd find a way out of this mess. Maybe. 

~~~~~ 

_Tuesday 12th November, 4.40pm_

Rory sat in his office, trying to concentrate on a tender for a new cleaning contract, but making very little progress. Every two or three minutes his eyes would stray to the clock in the bottom of the screen and he'd wonder how Charlie was doing at the doctor's. It was the not knowing that was the worst - he had no idea if Charlie had even turned up to the appointment, let alone what he was telling Dr Pascoe. He wished that Charlie had taken the opportunity to transfer to his own doctor, but Meg had told them there was a new man at their old family practice and Charlie had decided that he might as well go there instead. 

Rory wasn't all that happy about it. If Charlie had been seeing Rory's GP, Dr McKenzie, Rory would have been able to make enquiries on his progress - he would have had more information, and more control. He hated not being in control. How was he supposed to make sure that Charlie got fixed if he wasn't in control? 

The appointment had been at half-past three. Charlie had promised to ring him afterwards and let him know what Dr Pascoe had said, but so far there had been no call. Doctors ran overtime, he knew that, but surely not this much? What if Charlie had argued with him? What if Charlie hadn't gone to the appointment at all? What if he'd decided that he wanted heroin more than Rory and had left him? 

Rory's fists clenched. He couldn't let that happen. Charlie was his and would always be his and he had to make sure that he got over this drug addiction and went back to being the cheerful lively boy he'd fallen in love with. 

What could be keeping him? Rory stared at the words on the screen, not reading them, barely even seeing them. His mind was going over all the things that might have happened. Why had he not driven Charlie there himself? Charlie didn't want him there, he knew that, but he should have insisted. He had no idea what Charlie was saying to the doctor, whether it was truth or lies or a twisted combination of the two. Junkies weren't to be trusted, even if you loved them. Maybe especially if you loved them. 

He should have gone there with Charlie. It had been a mistake on his part to let his lover handle this alone, and he would make sure that he didn't make the same mistake again. Rory would take Charlie to all his future appointments, so that he could be sure of his attendance and of the information the doctor was given. 

He was close to screaming point when his mobile buzzed. The display told him that it was Charlie calling, and he almost sighed with relief. "How did it go?" he asked immediately. 

"Hi love, not bad," answered Charlie. "I had some blood taken, and I've got my scripts and a referral to a drugs counsellor." 

"Sounds good." 

"Yeah, I guess so." 

"How long do you have to wait for the blood tests?" 

"I've got an appointment for Friday to get the results and review the script." 

Rory could hear the scepticism in Charlie's voice. "Charlie, this is the right thing to do. You know you have to deal with this addiction." 

"I know, I know, it's just ... I guess I thought there'd be more time for me to get used to the idea, that's all. You know, talk about it, plan a start date, get ready for it." 

"It's better this way," Rory said, trying to reassure him. "Every time you use a needle you take risks. Better to stop that as soon as possible." 

Charlie gave a non-committal grunt, and Rory wondered if he was going to be difficult about it. It wasn't as if it had come right out of the blue - they'd talked of little else in the three days since the wedding, and Rory had honestly thought that he'd convinced Charlie to undergo treatment. It was crazy to stay on heroin when the government would provide methadone to registered addicts. And all right, some people didn't get off methadone for a few years, but Charlie wouldn't be like that. Charlie would be one of the people who was weaned off methadone successfully. Rory would see to that. 

"Would you like to go out for dinner tonight?" he asked, hoping that it would divert Charlie's thoughts into a happier vein. 

"Where?" 

"The Italian place?" 

"Yeah, sure. Are you going to come home first?" 

"I think so, unless I get caught up here." 

"I'll give them a ring then." 

"Thanks. I'll see you around six." He rang off, and spent the next few minutes just string at the phone. He'd expected Charlie to be a bit more enthusiastic about giving up; instead he'd sounded almost regretful. Rory shook his head. He was imagining things. 

~~~~~ 

He was sure he'd been imagining it when he got home and found Charlie happily adding pasta to a pot of boiling water on the stove. 

"What happened to the restaurant?" he asked, taking off his jacket and giving Charlie a kiss on the ear. 

"Changed my mind. Thought I'd cook you something instead." He beamed at Rory over his shoulder. "Make yourself useful - the table needs setting." 

"Do I have time to change? I don't want pasta sauce on this suit again." 

"That was an accident." 

"Aye, maybe, but it still cost me a packet to get the stain removed." 

He was back in under five minutes, having changed his suit for an old track suit and jumper, and quickly set the table. Charlie was already draining the pasta and soon they were sitting down to a tasty meal. 

"This is good," said Rory, his mouth full. 

Charlie smiled at him, and Rory felt desire stirring once more. 

"So," he continued. "How did the appointment go?" 

Charlie shrugged. "Like I told you, he gave me the script, wrote up some blood tests and referred me to a counsellor." 

"Was that all? What sort of questions did he ask you? What else did you talk about?" 

"Nothing much - how long I'd been using, how much I was going through, had I ever shared my needles, that sort of thing." 

"You haven't, have you?" 

Charlie shook his head. 

"So you picked up your script?" 

"Yeah, but it's not like getting a box of antibiotics to bring home with me. I have to go to the chemist every day - they'll give me a dose for Sunday when I go in on Saturday, but that's all." 

"Seems like a lot of hassle." 

"Yeah, well, the doctor said they'd had too many people selling the methadone, so it has to be taken at the counter." 

Rory grimaced. It was bad enough that Charlie was an addict; he didn't want to hear about the others. The only way he was going to get through this was to focus on Charlie. 

He poured another glass of wine and clinked his glass against Charlie's. "Here's to your first day on methadone, then." _And your last on heroin,_ he added, silently. 

Charlie gave a sad little smile, as if he could hear Rory's thoughts, but dutifully took a mouthful of the wine. 

Rory noted Charlie's expression, and wondered how long it would be until it all fell apart. 

**5.5 Relapse**

_Saturday 21st December 2002, 3.30pm_

It's funny how momentous changes can result from the most trivial things. If Rory hadn't forgotten his wallet, if he'd had more than just small change in his pockets, if it hadn't been absolutely imperative for him to have cash on him that afternoon, he wouldn't have been back until Charlie had got everything packed away again. Who knows how much longer it would have taken him to realise that Charlie was back on heroin? It might have been weeks, or maybe even months. As it was, Rory ran up the stairs and into the bedroom, his arm outstretched to grab the wallet from the bedside table, and saw Charlie was sitting on the bed, his syringe by his side and the tourniquet on the pillow. 

He stopped dead. 

Charlie gave him a vacuous smile, only just aware enough to realise that Rory had caught him. He made a vague attempt to hide the syringe with his hand. "Hi, love," he drawled. "Didn't expect you back so soon." 

Rory was thunderstruck. Charlie was on methadone. He knew Charlie was taking the methadone - he watched him take it every morning. How could he be taking heroin at the same time? It just didn't make sense. 

He shook his head, as if he could deny the scene in front of him, but it was too much. He threw the syringe to the other side of the room, then grabbed Charlie by the shoulders. "You fucking moron! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" 

Charlie gave him no resistance, and looked more bewildered than anything else. "Jus' ... jus' needed it," he mumbled. 

Rory dropped him back on the bed. A wave of anger and disgust flowed through him. He felt betrayed. Charlie had lied to him when he said he'd given up the heroin, lied to him over and over. He couldn't abide lies, not from those he trusted, not from within his own family. 

With a growl of pure rage, he grabbed the syringe and the tourniquet and the scattered foil packets, ignoring Charlie's feeble attempts at protest. 

"You are not doing this, Charlie. You're not doing this to me, to your family. You're supposed to be clean, for Christ's sake. I am not going to stand here and let you destroy everything." 

"But that's my stuff! I bought it!" 

"And I'm throwing it away." 

He caught sight of the time and cursed. He really didn't have time for this, not right now. He had a meeting with someone who was going to give him some very valuable information and he couldn't afford to miss it. He'd have to deal with this later. 

Looking Charlie in the eye, and making no attempt to disguise the disgust and anger he was feeling, he picked up his wallet, stowed it in his jacket pocket, then strode out and down the stairs. Late as he was, he took the time to wrap everything in yesterday's newspaper, and made sure that the bundle was thrown right to the back of the rubbish skip that served the flats. There was no way that Charlie would find it now. 

Fucking junkies. You couldn't trust them an inch. 

~~~~~ 

It was six o'clock when Rory got back, and he was surprised and a little annoyed to find that Charlie had gone out. He made himself a cup of tea and sat down to watch the TV, but he couldn't concentrate on anything but his own thoughts. 

How the fuck could Charlie be using heroin when he was still on the methadone? The chemist had assured him that it took away the cravings and allowed addicts to get on with their lives free of the hassles of finding and paying for an illegal drug. Charlie should have been happy and contented - writing music and looking for a new band - not sitting on the bed in a stupor all day. It just didn't make sense. 

He came to the conclusion that drastic measures were called for. He wasn't naïve enough to think that Charlie would stop just because Rory had told him to - he'd almost certainly bought more that afternoon, more of that filthy crap that brought nothing but misery to anyone who touched it. He'd have to do something to stop that, to stop it for good. It was obvious that the methadone wasn't enough to keep Charlie off the heroin - he needed a closed programme, an intensive programme, if he was to have any chance of beating his addiction. Once he was free of drugs entirely, heroin and methadone both, then he'd be fine, Rory was sure of it. 

He spent an hour on the net, researching inpatient drug rehabilitation centres. Most of them needed referrals from doctors, though … well, he was sure he could swing that if necessary. If Dr Pascoe wouldn't refer Charlie, he was sure he could talk his own GP, Dr McKenzie, into doing it for him. There was one place in Yorkshire that sounded promising - a six-week residential programme with detoxification under medical supervision, individual counselling, group therapy, and behavioural therapy, followed by months of regular follow-up - it was extremely expensive, but it looked like a top-notch programme, and the testimonials from ex-patients and families were very good. 

He'd give them a ring first thing on Monday. 

At half-past seven the front door opened and Charlie walked in and headed straight up the stairs without even so much as a hello to Rory. The glimpse that he'd seen of Charlie's face filled him with foreboding: it was not going to be a pleasant evening. The bedroom door slammed, as if in confirmation. 

Sighing, he climbed the stairs. Charlie had locked the door, and Rory rattled the handle, then hammered on the wood. 

"Charlie?" he called. "Open the door." 

"No." 

"Come on, talk to me." 

"Fuck off." 

"Don't tell me to fuck off, you prick. Did you buy more heroin while you were out?" 

"What if I did? It's my money." 

"It's my flat." 

"You want me to leave?" 

"No, I want you to give up the drugs, like you said you would. You promised me." 

"I never promised." 

"Well, promise me now." 

"No." 

"Open the door then." 

"No." 

Rory fumed, and then it seemed as if something gave way and a wave of rage flooded over him. All the worry and resentment at the way Charlie had betrayed him spilled over, banishing reason and leaving only one thought in his head - to get into the room and make Charlie see reason. Raising a foot, and blessing the fact that he was still wearing Doc Martens, he delivered a series of front kicks to the door. It didn't take long at all before it had buckled and splintered, and Rory was able to shove it to one side and enter the bedroom. 

Charlie was standing by the bed, looking aghast as Rory approached. For the first time in years there was a flicker of fear in his eyes as Rory got closer, but he didn't back away. 

"Where is it?" Rory demanded. 

"Where's what?" 

"That fucking shit you just brought into my house." 

Charlie's eyes flickered to the wardrobe, and Rory threw open the doors. Shoes, probably, he thought, and started to pick them up and shake them. So fucking predictable, he added to himself, as the small packets fell out of one of Charlie's trainers. He picked them up and shoved them in his pocket. The syringe and the tourniquet were in the other one. 

"You can't take that!" 

"I can and I will." 

"It's mine! I bought it! I need it!" 

"I dinnae care if ye bought it. Ye're not using fucking heroin in mah fucking house." 

"I'll use it if I want to." 

Rory threw the shoe down and advanced on Charlie, anger displacing every other emotion in his head. "I've given you a lot of fucking leeway, lad. I've let you get away with things I'd not let anyone else." 

"The fuck you have." 

"But that's all going to stop. I've been too fucking soft with you. You're going to give up the fucking drugs, or I'll fucking make you." 

"Oh yeah? You and what army?" 

"I dinnae need an army," he hissed. 

Charlie attempted to punch him, but he was slow, and Rory evaded the blow with ease. Another attempt followed, and this time Rory stepped to the side and landed one of his own - a vicious uppercut. Charlie looked dazed for a moment, then his eyes blazed and he rushed at Rory, fists flying and feet kicking. For several minutes they fought, all emotion and no technique, taking out on each other all the frustrations and anger of the past few weeks. Rory landed a couple of punches, but suffered several blows to the head and torso as Charlie fought like a maniac. 

Finally, Rory grabbed Charlie's arm, hooked a foot behind his knee and dropped him to the floor. The outraged expression on his face as he hit the floor was deeply satisfying. He started to struggle, but Rory leaned in and kept him pinned to the carpet. 

"Get off me." 

"No." 

Charlie tried to roll, but Rory quickly moved to straddle him, leaning down over his chest. Charlie bucked his hips, but Rory simply lowered himself more and looked into the furious storm-grey eyes. Charlie tried to move again, but this time all he managed was to rub their groins together, and suddenly it wasn't about fighting, it was about fucking, as Rory pressed down and took Charlie in a punishing, bruising, demanding kiss. 

He had no idea why this was so bloody hot, but it was. They were kissing and grinding and groping each other like two randy teenagers, and Charlie was doing his best to undo Rory's trousers while his legs were wrapped around Rory's waist, pulling him in tight. 

Rory wrenched himself back for a minute and quickly undid Charlie's jeans, pulling them down his legs and then cursing because he hadn't remembered that Charlie was still wearing shoes and he had to undo them before he could pull the jeans off and throw them to one side. A few seconds more saw his own trousers undone and his cock in his hand, hard and eager, and he fell back onto Charlie, grinding their cocks hard together until he couldn't work out whether it was pain or pleasure. He couldn't stop - he knew he had to move again or they'd end up coming like this, over each other's belly, but he just couldn't pull away again. 

Then Charlie pulled his knees up further and pushed up with his hips, a wordless invitation that Rory lost no time in answering. There was no time to find lube - and hadn't Charlie always said he could take Rory dry? - but he wet two fingers in his mouth and reached in to open him up a little. Then he placed his cock against the entrance and pushed. 

It was tight - tighter than he'd expected - and he could see Charlie's eyes had tears starting, but it was too late now. He thrust again, and fuck, this was hurting him too, but he kept pushing until he was in all the way, and then stopped. Charlie's eyes were closed but he wasn't yelling and he wasn't trying to get away from him, and his heels were pushing down on Rory's back, urging him deeper still. Rory pulled out just enough to get a better angle then rammed home. He could almost see Charlie's teeth rattle with the impact, but that only made it better, and then he was thrusting hard and deep until his muscles were screaming with the effort, but he kept on until he could feel his climax building up and then bursting through him. He almost convulsed as he came, and it took several seconds before he was aware enough to realise that Charlie hadn't come yet. 

Now that he'd released his own tension, he was feeling decidedly more charitable towards his lover, and took a firm grip on the hard, engorged cock that he loved so much. He gave it a good hard pull, and smiled as Charlie moaned and arched back. He knew Charlie's responses as well as his own now, and he gradually increased the pace until he felt the jerky, rhythmic movement under his hand and around his softening cock, still buried deep in Charlie's body. Seminal fluid spattered them both and spilled over his hand. He grimaced and wiped it on Charlie's shirt. 

"Hey, that's my shirt!" 

"It's your come." 

"Fucker." 

There was no real heat in Charlie's epithet, though, and Rory gave him a half-smile. "Aye." 

They looked at each other for a few seconds. 

"Are you going to let me up or am I going to lie here all night? 

Sighing, Rory pulled out, frowning as Charlie winced. He was still angry - sort of - but he hoped he hadn't hurt him too much. "Are you all right?" 

"I'll live. Just a bit sore." 

"You should have stopped me." 

Charlie raised an eyebrow and Rory suddenly realised how stupid that must have sounded. "Aye, well, you could have said something." 

"Its OK, It wasn't that bad. It ended well anyway." 

"That it did." 

Rory hauled himself to his feet, then helped Charlie up. They must look pretty stupid, he thought, with Charlie dressed only in T-shirt and socks, and himself with his willy hanging out of his trousers. But at least Charlie wasn't sulking any more, and after they'd had a shower maybe he could try and find out what had happened to get him started on the heroin again. If he knew that, then he'd be in a much better position to get Charlie off it, once and for all. 

~~~~~ 

Later, when they'd finished eating, Rory decided that he couldn't put it off any longer. He looked at Charlie, who was just adding the detergent to the dishwasher, and said, "We have to talk." 

Charlie switched the machine on and made a face. "Do we? Why can't we just forget about everything, just for a day?" 

"Why can't you stop taking your drugs for a day? Or a week?" 

"That's not the same." 

Rory shrugged. It wasn't the same, and yet it was the heart of the matter. They were going nowhere as long as Charlie was on heroin. He thought that the methadone had bought them breathing space, time to get through the winter, time for Charlie to find a new band, time for the family to adjust to Liam's departure, time for Mike to realise that he had another adult son who was worth knowing. But Charlie's need for heroin was obviously too much, and now he was going to have to try and find some sort of solution before Christmas or hope that no one else noticed. 

"I just don't understand how you can be on the methadone and still use heroin." 

Charlie shrugged. "I started getting withdrawals again. It wasn't so bad when it was first thing in the morning, but then it started waking me in the night." 

"Couldn't they increase the dose?" 

"They did, but it just wasn't enough. Last week the doctor said he'd pushed my dose as high as he could go and I'd just have to deal with it." He snorted. "Fucking idiot has no idea what he's talking about." 

"How long have you been using again?" 

"Not long. A few days." 

Rory relaxed slightly. If it had only been a few days, then he felt slightly better about not having noticed. He'd been very busy the past week, and hadn't really paid Charlie as much attention as usual. It would have been easy for Charlie to inject himself while Rory was at work or asleep, easy for him to pretend that nothing was wrong. He shivered slightly as he thought of how long it might have taken him to find out if he hadn't accidentally left his wallet behind. But he knew now, and that meant that he could do something about it. 

"I spent some time on the web before you came back, I found some drug rehabilitation clinics that would be worth looking at." 

Charlie withdrew slightly, and Rory tugged on his hand, pulling him back. "Don't. You have to get off the drugs, and the sooner the better. And since the methadone isn't working, a clinic would be the next best option." 

"I guess." He didn't sound convinced. 

"I know." Rory was confident now. "We'll get it all sorted. I'll make sure of that." 

**5.6 Arguments**

_Wednesday 25th December 2002_

 _"We'll get it all sorted. I'll make sure of that."_

Rory sighed. If only it had been that easy. A combination of the weekend and the upcoming Christmas break had meant that his plans to get everything sorted out quickly had hit a snag. They had had a sharply unpleasant interview with Charlie's doctor on the Monday, where even Rory's testimony of having witnessed Charlie taking the methadone in the morning and then observing how he became agitated and restless during the evening hadn't been enough to persuade the doctor to increase the dose any further. Reluctantly - very, very reluctantly - Rory had been forced to accept that for the moment, at least, there was no alternative but for Charlie to add enough heroin to keep him going until they could find a more permanent solution. 

It made him feel physically nauseated to see Charlie preparing the heroin, seeing him wrap the tourniquet around his arm and pump up the veins. He couldn't stay for the actual injection and hastened downstairs to pour himself a glass of calm-inducing whisky. When Charlie had come slowly down the stairs a few minutes later, Rory had let himself be hugged, but he couldn't even find the words to say how much the sight had revolted him. 

At least the counsellor - _sanctimonious prick,_ Rory thought - had welcomed their request for an in-patient treatment course as soon as possible, and had promised to do his best to find them a place at one of the clinics on Rory's list. 

Now, as Rory drove them to what he hoped would be a pleasant Christmas at Meg's, he was praying as hard as an atheist could that the counsellor would come up with something soon, before the whole family was ripped apart. 

Meg had been determined to assemble the whole family for Christmas lunch. A combination of cajolery on her part, coupled with a solemn avowal from Charlie that he was taking his methadone every day, had served to convince Mike that Charlie could be welcomed safely into the family home for Christmas. It started well: they exchanged presents, exclaimed dutifully over the ones they received, and enjoyed a delicious meal served up by Meg and Tessa. 

The blot on the landscape, fly in the ointment or spanner in the works - choose whatever metaphor you wish - was Mike, who, under the influence of several pre-prandial whiskies and a bottle of wine over lunch, had left no one in any doubt that in his eyes Charlie was still in disgrace. They really hadn't spent much time with him over the last year, and now, on getting the chance to observe Mike without the distracting presence of Liam, Rory was able to see how much the man resembled his eldest son, in temperament as well as looks. There were the same glowering looks, the same snide remarks, the same attempts to get a rise out of Charlie while maintaining a façade of amiability. 

Charlie bore it all in silence, though Rory noted the set of his chin and the whites of his knuckles on the cutlery, and whispered some words of encouragement to his lover as they moved from dining room to lounge. His heart sank, however, when Meg, Tess and Biddy disappeared into the kitchen and Kevin went upstairs to play with his new presents, leaving the men on their own. 

His worst fears were realised when Mike commenced a whisky-fuelled monologue on the evils of rock and roll music (and yes, he used that very term) and how Charlie ought to get a real job, like his brother. 

"I've got a real job," Charlie countered. "I'm a songwriter." 

"That's no job at all. You're just living off your - your _friend_ here, like a parasite. 

"He's my boyfriend. My lover. And I'm not a fucking parasite." 

"Language, Charlie," cautioned his mother, coming into the room. "Mike, calm down, please." 

"I just want him to accept that I'm gay. Is that too much to ask?" 

"You're not gay," stated Mike with conviction. "It's just a phase. You'll come to your senses soon enough." 

"Phase? You still think this is a _phase?"_

"Liam says -" 

"Liam? You're taking Liam's advice on _my_ fucking life?" 

"And why not? He's always had more sense than you." 

"He sucks up to you, you mean. You have no idea what he gets up to, none at all. He's a selfish, cheating, lying prick." 

"Don't speak like that about your brother." 

"So he's allowed to bad-mouth me, but I can't say a word against him? Is that how it is? Christ, it's no wonder this is all so fucked up. No wonder I'm still fucking using!" 

Rory closed his eyes in disbelief. Of all the things that Charlie could have chosen to say, that was, undoubtedly, the worst. 

Mike went red, then white, then red again. Rory thought he was going to burst a blood vessel and looked anxiously at Meg. She, too, had gone white, but her concern for her husband was matched with concern for her son. 

Mike lumbered to his feet. Rory stood too, and took a step forward. He could hold his whisky a damned sight better than Mike could and he was prepared to defend Charlie against anyone, even his own father if need be. 

"Charlie, did you mean that?" Meg asked anxiously. "Mike, sit down, you're not looking well." 

"You told me you were on methadone. Were you lying to me?" Mike's voice was hoarse with rage. 

Rory intervened. This had to be stopped before it got any worse. He put a hand on Charlie's shoulder, pressing down and hoping that Charlie would understand the silent order to stay quiet. "He wasn't lying. He is on methadone - I watch him take it every morning." 

"So what did he ... ?" 

"I think, under the circumstances, that it's better if we leave now," said Rory firmly. "You're obviously pi- ... er, under the weather, and we're just in your way." 

"I just want to know," began Mike. 

"Don't go," said Meg. 

Rory ignored them both and steered Charlie out to the hall where they grabbed their coats. Charlie headed for the car while Rory turned to say goodbye to Meg, who had followed them. "Thanks for the meal, Meg, it was lovely. Please thank Tess as well." 

"I will. But Rory, dear," she put her hand on his arm, "what's going on? Is he really using again? You wouldn't lie to me, please?" 

Rory sighed. Meg wasn't angry, she was worried, and he couldn't blame her. Quickly, he gave her a rundown of the last few days. "The methadone isn't enough. He's been getting cravings and withdrawal again. We've talked with the doctor, but he won't increase the dose any further. The counsellor is looking for a place for him to get treatment, but for now he needs methadone and heroin both. I don't like it any more than you do, but I think it's better than forcing him into unsupervised withdrawal because of some bureaucratic idiocy." 

"Oh dear," she said, and seemed to be on the verge of tears. "I thought things were going so well." 

"Aye, well, they weren't. But with a little luck we'll get a place soon and then it'll all be right again." 

"I hope so." 

Rory nodded and left the house, buttoning his coat and wondering what the hell she had ever seen in a Neanderthal like Mike. 

He got into the car and glanced over at Charlie. "Well that was a stupid fucking thing to say." 

"Don't you start." 

"I didn't start anything. You're the one who suddenly decided to tell your father you're still using heroin. The same father who banned you from the house after he found out the first time." 

"It just slipped out, okay?" 

_"Just slipped out?"_ Rory repeated, incredulous. "Don't you ever think before you open your mouth?" 

"Look, it was a mistake, all right? Just leave it. It's not bloody world war three." 

"Not for lack of trying." 

"Oh, fuck off." 

"I'm only trying to stop you making things worse." 

"It's my family, Rory. My life. If I want to make things worse I bloody well will." 

"And don't I have any say in it? You live with me, remember?" 

"That doesn't give you the right to run my life." 

"It does when you're too fucking stupid to run it on your own." 

"So you think I'm stupid now." 

"Aye, I do. If you'd just kept your mouth shut you'd have been fine. Then we could have told them you were going into a clinic to get off the methadone quickly. Your father would have been happy with that." 

"Haven't you fucking realised it yet? My dad will never be happy with me, not ever. I could marry royalty and have a dozen kids, make ten number one albums and earn enough money to support the whole family for the rest of their lives, and he would still hate me. And you know why? Because I'm not Liam. My fucking elder brother is the perfect son, and nothing I can do will ever change that." 

Rory was silent. He'd known it, of course, but it had never been stated to clearly or with such anger and resentment and pain. 

"Charlie, I'm ..." he began, but was cut off by Charlie. 

"No! Stop trying to run my life. Just leave me the fuck alone, all right?" 

The rest of the short journey was spent in sullen silence. He wasn't surprised when Charlie escaped from the car as soon as it came to a halt in the garage. He followed him to the flat, more slowly, and wondered if he could make the boy see sense at all. 

The bedroom door still being in pieces, Charlie had locked himself in the bathroom. Rory hammered on it but there was no answer apart from a surly "Fuck off". He considered kicking that door in too and confronting Charlie, but there was no point, he knew that. Charlie was a junkie and couldn't be relied on to think rationally at the moment - he'd been told that by Meg, by the doctor, by the books he'd bought. He had to be the sensible one, the responsible one, the one who kept everything together. 

He nodded to himself and went back downstairs, where he poured himself a large whisky and contemplated the rest of the day. He hated it when Charlie was like this, when he was angry and uncommunicative, sulking like a small child. He'd been looking forward to a nice relaxing evening, just the two of them, replete with good food and warmth, making love and then falling asleep. His plans for Boxing Day had included a long lie-in in the morning, eating breakfast and maybe going for a run in the afternoon. Now his plans were in ruins and - yet again - he had a sulky, bad-tempered Charlie to deal with. 

He closed his eyes as if to ward away the pain, but it was no use. He felt as if he didn't know Charlie anymore. He wondered if it was worth it, staying with this bad-tempered, secretive, sullen man who had replaced the vibrant and joyous Charlie he knew. There was no light in Charlie's eyes, no laughter in his voice, no music in his life. He had changed, and Rory didn't like what he'd changed into. 

For the first time in three years, he wondered what life would be like without Charlie. He wondered what it would be like to sleep without a warm body beside him, to live without music and laughter and home cooking and sex. 

Maybe they would be better off apart. Maybe he should tell Charlie to pack his things and leave. Rory had lived on his own before, he'd survived. He didn't actually need anyone. He didn't need Charlie. He'd stayed with Charlie because he was - had been - fun to be with. If the fun was gone, if the warmth had gone, what was left? Was there anything to keep them together? 

He poured himself a second glass of whisky and wondered if he ought to have another go at taking Charlie out of the bathroom. Somehow he wasn't sure it was worth the effort - Charlie would just sit and sulk anyway, and he might as well do that in the bathroom where Rory couldn't see him. He switched the TV on instead and tried to interest himself in the Christmas specials. 

A couple of hours later, he heard Charlie moving around upstairs, but the expected footfalls on the stairs didn't happen. He was hungry again now, but he knew that Charlie wasn't going to want to cook, not in the mood he was in, and Rory couldn't face the thought of another can of soup. His favourite Thai restaurant was closed, but the pizza place would be open. He picked up the phone and ordered a large pizza, with all his favourite toppings. He didn't order Charlie's favourite. He didn't care if Charlie ate or not. 

Two hours later, Rory had half the pizza and several more whiskies under his belt and was sprawled on the sofa watching the tenth anniversary edition of "Reservoir Dogs", happy to forget his troubles and lose himself in the violence. 

Charlie walked in and stopped in the middle of the room. Rory didn't look up. 

"Are you finished?" asked Charlie. 

"Aye." He took another mouthful of whisky. 

"Are you drunk?" 

"Not yet." 

Charlie didn't reply, and Rory watched out of the corner of his eye as Charlie picked up the pizza box and took it out to the kitchen. He must have eaten out there - Rory heard the ping of the microwave - but then he came back and started tidying up the room. Rory ignored him until he reached for the whisky bottle. 

"Leave that," he snapped. 

Charlie halted, then set the bottle back gently on the table. Rory could tell that he was trying to be conciliatory, but right now, Rory wasn't interested in reconciliation. He still felt hurt and excluded and seriously pissed off, and as far as he was concerned, Charlie could do what he liked for the rest of the night because Rory didn't give a flying fuck. 

After another minute, during which Rory kept his eyes firmly on the television, Charlie's shoulders slumped, and he went back up the stairs. Rory told himself that he was glad to be left alone and poured himself another glass of whisky. 

"Merry Fucking Christmas," he whispered to himself. 

~~~~~ 

_Thursday 26th December_

He woke late the next morning, still dressed and still sprawled on the sofa. His neck was stiff and sore, his head ached and his mouth was dry and thick. He was going to have the mother of all hangovers, he could tell, and he groaned softly to himself. Dying would be a good option, but he wasn't that lucky. Instead, he struggled to his feet, pouring curses on Charlie, whisky and life in general, and went to put the kettle on. 

Later, after two glasses of water, a few painkillers and a strong cup of coffee (there were some days when tea just wasn't enough), he sat at the small kitchen table nursing his head and wondering how the hell he was going to get through the day with Charlie alternating between dopey and snarky. 

He groaned softly to himself. He really didn't want to be here. He wanted to be somewhere peaceful, somewhere warm and comfortable, with an endless supply of whisky so he could drink himself into oblivion. He wanted to stop thinking for a while, to pass the days in a blur of alcohol and sleep, until it all went away. He wanted to be alone with his pain and his sorrows. 

As if to remind him how impossible that was, Charlie wandered in, looking miserable. He'd obviously had his heroin already - or possibly methadone and heroin - because he wasn't jittery and he didn't seem particularly snarly. In fact, after making his own coffee, he sat down at the table opposite Rory and remained blessedly silent. 

It was a full twenty minutes before Charlie spoke, and then it was simply to ask if Rory wanted another coffee. Rory grunted his assent and Charlie made another two cups. 

"Headache?" he asked, as he set the fresh cup before Rory. 

"Aye." 

Charlie set down his own coffee and moved to stand behind Rory, where he began to give him a neck rub, as he often did when Rory was hung over. 

After the initial surprise, Rory relaxed, and allowed Charlie's nimble fingers to find and ease the sore spots. He loved getting massages from Charlie, he always had, and even when he was in a monumentally bad mood, they never failed to help him feel better. Today he could feel the pain and frustration draining out of him, and he leaned back against Charlie's chest and almost purred. If this was in the nature of a peace-offering, it was very welcome. 

It was several minutes before Charlie stopped his ministrations and dropped a kiss onto Rory's head. "Sorry I was such a prick last night," he said. 

Rory reached up and caught his hand. "Aye, you were," he agreed. "But I can understand. Your father's a fucking idiot." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Not your fault. I shouldn't have let Meg talk us into going over there. I knew it would end badly." 

"She likes to have us all there at Christmas." 

"I know, but she knows how Mike is, she should have known how he holds a grudge." 

"Water under the bridge, love," Charlie said, trying to smile. 

_Water undermining the foundations, more like,_ thought Rory. But he smiled back, and let Charlie see that he, at least, still cared about him. 

Charlie dropped another kiss onto his head. "You ought to go and have a shower." 

"Are you saying I stink?" 

"Just a bit. Besides which, it'll give me time to cook you some breakfast - bacon, eggs, tomatoes, whatever else I can find. I think there's a tin of haggis in the cupboard." 

"Sounds good." It did sound good, actually, and Rory's stomach grumbled right on cue, causing them both to smile. He got up - with a groan as the pain in his head returned - and looked at Charlie, seeing the face of his beloved contrite and concerned. "I'll be all right in an hour or two," he reassured him. 

"I know, but I'm sorry you're hurting now." 

They kissed, soft and slow and gentle, holding each other closely. Rory felt the bitterness ebb away, to be replaced by love and caring and need and desire. 

"Go and shower, love," said Charlie, softly, as he broke the kiss. "I'll have your breakfast waiting for you." 

Rory smiled and headed up the stairs. His head still hurt and he needed another ten hours sleep, but the world looked a lot better now. 

Everything would turn out all right. It had to. 

**5.7 Disaster**

_Friday 27th December 2002_

It was late on the Friday when Trent, the drugs counsellor, rang them. 

"Rory, how are you? I'm just ringing to let you know that a place has opened up at Kingston House for tomorrow. Are you interested in taking it?" 

Rory looked at Charlie, who had been dozing on the sofa and was now looking at him blearily. "Tomorrow? That was fast. I … I don't know. I'll have to talk to Charlie about it. We didn't expect this so soon." 

"I know, me neither. You're very lucky, actually, they've had a few discharges and the two people ahead of you on my waiting list went away for the break and can't take it." 

Rory sighed. He wasn't sure that "lucky" was the right word under the circumstances. They'd been prepared for a late January admission, not just after Christmas. 

Trent interrupted his thoughts. "Rory, I need an answer. If Charlie can't take this place I have to know now so I can go to the next person on the list. I can't hang around while you dither." 

"I'm not dithering," he muttered under his breath. The trouble was, he really wanted to say no. Now that it came to the crunch, he didn't want to drive Charlie eighty miles into the Yorkshire countryside and leave him with a bunch of strangers. 

"Can you give me half an hour?" he asked. 

"All right," conceded Trent, "but I have to have a definite answer then." 

"Fine. I'll ring you back." He put the phone down and went over to sit beside Charlie. 

"What's up?" 

"There's a place opened up for you at Kingston House." 

"What?" 

"Kingston House. You know, the clinic, the one in Yorkshire." 

Charlie pulled a face. "When is it? Next week?" 

"Tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow?" He sat up, alarmed. "I can't go tomorrow." 

"It's a bit sudden, I know, but it might be months before we get another chance." 

"But what about New Year's Eve? We were going to go to Churchill's." 

Rory grimaced - he'd forgotten about that. Charlie had talked him into it, shamelessly playing on the fact that there had been no birthday party for him this year. Rory wasn't keen on nightclubs at the best of times, let alone gay ones, but Charlie had begged and pleaded, and Rory had given in for the sake of getting a moment's peace. Now it seemed that Rory was going to get a reprieve ... but at a huge cost. 

"We can go there some other time," he said, trying to sound both disappointed and reassuring. "This is more important." 

Charlie looked mulish, and Rory wondered for a moment if he was going to refuse treatment. 

"Charlie, you know I don't want to be away for longer than you absolutely have to. Go to the clinic, get well, and we'll go for a holiday when you get back - Ibiza, maybe, or Portugal, or the Bahamas. Somewhere warm." 

"Can't we go there instead of the clinic?" 

Rory sighed. "We've talked about this already. Do you know how much paperwork it will take to get them to allow you to carry the methadone with you? It's just not worth it. We'll go when you're clean." 

"And what if I'm never clean?" 

"Then we'll go to Orkney instead." He put an arm around Charlie and tried to cheer him up with a smile and a kiss. "Come on, you know you want to be free of the drugs. This gets it all over and done with in a few weeks and then we can be happy again." 

Charlie didn't say anything, and Rory wondered if he was really considering refusing the place. But then Charlie nodded, a little sadly, and stood up. 

"That's it. You go and start packing and I'll ring Trent and tell him that you'll take the place." He gave Charlie a quick kiss and went back to the phone, watching as Charlie slowly walked to the stairs. 

Trent was pleased to hear that Charlie would be taking the place. "He's a good kid, you know, I think he'll do well." 

"I hope so." 

"You sound a bit doubtful, mate." 

"He wasn't keen on the timing. We had plans for New Year's Eve." 

"Do you think he's going to refuse?" 

"He won't refuse," Rory stated with firmness. "I'll get him there." 

"Look, just a word of warning, sometimes when it comes to the crunch, they just can't face it. He may try to make you postpone the admission, make you all sorts of promises, beg, plead, threaten, you name it. They can be quite manipulative." 

"But he wants to give up." 

"They all want to give up, just not right now." He sighed. "Just keep that in mind. Anyway, I'll ring Kingston House and let them know you're taking the place. They'll expect you at eleven." 

"Thanks." 

Rory rang off and stood in the middle of the living room, tapping the phone on his teeth. Trent's caution had rung alarm bells in his head, and he suspected that it might be quite a task to get Charlie to the doors of the clinic. 

But when Charlie came back downstairs a few minutes later, he seemed serene enough, and sat on the arm of Rory's chair, dropping a kiss on his head. 

Rory wondered if he'd given himself another fix, but decided not to inquire - it wouldn't change anything and would only antagonise him further. Instead he smiled at him and asked, "All set then?" 

Charlie shrugged. "Not really, but I've started. There's no real rush, is there?" 

"We're due at the clinic at eleven, we should leave by nine." 

Charlie made a face at that, but Rory knew he hated early mornings, especially at weekends, so it was no indication of anything out of the ordinary. 

"Since you're going to be eating clinic food for the next few weeks, do you want anything special for dinner?" 

Charlie shrugged. "Thai, maybe?" 

"Mmm, sounds good to me." He phoned the order through and then stood up, putting his arms around Charlie and kissing him gently. "Forty minutes, they said. I wonder what we can do in forty minutes." 

Charlie smiled and kissed him back. "I have a couple of ideas." 

"Aye, I've no doubt of that." 

Charlie's hands cupped his bottom and gave him a gentle squeeze. Rory inched closer so that their groins were aligned and started nibbling on Charlie's bottom lip. 

Charlie groaned and squeezed harder, pulling Rory in tight and grinding against him. Their kiss became more passionate and more demanding as they became aroused. 

"Is there any lube in here?" asked Rory, his voice already hoarse. 

Charlie grinned, a mischievous, slightly evil grin. "Of course there's lube in here. I put a new tube of the cherry flavour in the jar the other day." 

"Good." Rory walked over to the large, ornamental ginger jar that sat on one shelf of the bookcase and retrieved the tube. Charlie was already half-undressed by the time he turned around. 

"You're eager," he smiled. 

"It might be my last shag for a while, I don't want to waste any time." 

"I think we can set the alarm half an hour early tomorrow, that way you can have your last shag just before we leave." 

"Mmm, sounds good." Charlie's words were mumbled into his mouth as they kissed. 

Rory relaxed and allowed Charlie to manoeuvre him gradually across the room to the dark leather couch, always a favourite place for lovemaking. He felt Charlie's hands at his groin, unfastening his trousers and pulling them down around his thighs. The momentary constriction unsettled him, and he reached down in order to take them off, but instead Charlie pushed him backwards. He landed neatly on the couch, and was swiftly straddled by his lover, who had removed his own jeans completely. He couldn't help grinning up at Charlie as he recovered his breath - he loved this position and the fact that neither of them was completely naked only added to the excitement. 

He fumbled at the tube of lubricant, finally managing to pop the cap and cover his fingers liberally. Charlie rose up on his knees to allow Rory better access, and closed his eyes as Rory's fingers slipped inside him. 

"Good?" 

"Very good. Oh ... yeah ..." he became almost incoherent as Rory's fingers spread him wide and teased as his prostate. 

"Want you," murmured Rory, taking his fingers out and holding his cock up against the entrance to Charlie's body. 

"Yeah," breathed Charlie, as he sank down slowly, taking Rory's full length into him in stages. "It's good." 

Once he was fully ensheathed, his balls and cock rubbing teasingly against Rory's belly, he smiled. "Love this. Love you." 

"Aye," was all that Rory said, but he meant much more, and he knew that Charlie would know it. He took a firm grip of his lover's hips, trying to pull him down and push up into him even more. He could never be deep enough inside his lover. 

Charlie started to move, a gentle up-and-down motion that merely teased them both. Rory took hold of the cock that was jutting towards him and gave it a few long, languid strokes in time with Charlie's movements. 

Charlie groaned, and Rory rubbed his thumb over the head, smearing the fluid that was now leaking from the slit. With the other hand he rolled Charlie's left nipple, seeing how it sprang up beneath his fingers, watching Charlie's shuddering response to a sharp pinch and flick. For a fleeting moment he wanted to change their position so that he could tease the nipple with his teeth and tongue, but then Charlie decided that he'd had enough teasing and drew himself right up before dropping down with all his weight. He gasped as Rory's cock slammed into his prostate, and repeated the movement twice more. 

Rory grabbed his hips and held him down. "Don't be too impatient, we've got time to enjoy ourselves." 

Charlie grinned down at him. "There's never enough time for what I want to do to you." 

Rory smiled back. "So use the time you have." 

"Oh, I intend to." With that he braced his hands on Rory's shoulders and started moving in earnest. 

Rory kept up with him, moving his hips in counterpoint and steadying Charlie with his hands. As the tempo increased, Rory returned his attentions to Charlie's cock and welcomed the groans and moans that they elicited. He was groaning himself now, unable and unwilling to control the noise that escaped him with each thrust, enjoying the added stimulus that their combined voices gave to him. 

Their thrusting became faster and he pumped Charlie vigorously, wanting to see him come, wanting to see the expression on his face at the moment of climax. Charlie shuddered, his eyes rolling back and his body arching, as his fluids spilled over Rory's chest and hand. Rory's climax was already building and it only took two more thrusts before he, too, was shuddering, trying with one last effort to reach even more deeply inside his lover. 

Panting, he held Charlie close, feeling warm lips nuzzling at his neck. 

"Good, yeah," Charlie mumbled into his shoulder. 

"Very good," he whispered back, not even have the strength to summon his voice. 

They sat in silence and stillness for a couple of minutes, getting their breath back, then Charlie slowly sat up and lifted himself off Rory's now-softened cock. The effort made his legs shake, and Rory held him upright, supporting him until Charlie was sitting beside him. 

"All right, there?" he asked. 

Charlie nodded, his eyes still closed. Rory grasped his hand and sat quietly with him for another minute, until the air on his cock reminded him that he was half-undressed and really ought to shower and change before their food arrived. Giving Charlie's hand a final squeeze, he dragged himself to his feet. There was come all over his shirt, he noted with distaste, as he undid the buttons, and wondered why, yet again, he had allowed Charlie to make a mess of his clothes. 

"I'm going to have a quick shower," he told Charlie. 

"Mmm," was Charlie's response. His eyes stayed shut and Rory guessed he was half-asleep already. Ah well, as long as one of them was dressed when the meal arrived, that was all that mattered. He headed for the bathroom. 

~~~~~ 

Later, after they'd showered and eaten, Charlie went upstairs to finish his packing, spurning Rory's offer of help. Rory cleared away the debris of their meal instead, and settled down to watch the news. 

It was nearly an hour later that Charlie came back into the living room and dropped down onto the settee beside him. 

Rory smiled at him. "All ready for tomorrow, then?" 

"I guess. I don't want to go." 

"I know. But it's for the best. You'll see." 

"Don't want to be without you for New Year's Eve. Even if we weren't going out, it's Hogmanay and all that." 

"I'll survive. And there wasn't any other opening for months. We were lucky to get you in so soon." 

"Yeah, lucky." 

There was a small silence, before Charlie's face crumpled and he said, "Rory, I can't do this. I just can't. Don't make me go." 

Rory felt his heart twist. Charlie looked so open, so helpless. All he wanted to do was gather him up and hold him and say that it was OK, everything would be all right. Only it wasn't OK, and it wouldn't be all right until Charlie had overcome his addiction. He reached out and pulled his lover close. "You have to go, Charlie. It’s the only thing to do." 

"Can't I stay here? Please? I'll try methadone again. Or I'll go cold turkey here, if you want. And I'll see a counsellor, every day if I have to. I'll even do the fucking twelve-step thing. Just don't send me away. Please don't send me away." 

Rory almost broke at that, but he remembered what the counsellor had said - that Charlie would try to get out of going, that he'd try to manipulate him. He had to remain strong. He had to be strong enough for both of them and not let Charlie slide of his commitment to the rehab programme. 

"It's not forever, love. Just a few weeks." 

"You just want me out of here. You don't love me any more." 

"That's not true." 

"If you loved me, you wouldn't send me away." 

"It's got nothing to do with it. I love you, but I'm not going to stand by and watch you piss your life away." 

Charlie pulled away and looked at him. "Like you do? Everyone takes drugs in some way, you know - cigarettes, alcohol, pot, prescription stuff. Christ, you drink enough for three." 

"My drug's legal. And it doesn't give people AIDS and hepatitis." 

"No, it just rots your brain." 

"Are you trying to say I'm soft in the head?" He tried to make it a joke but it came out flat - it was too close to Shark to be funny. "I'm not the one with the problem addiction. You're the addict and you have to give it up." 

"I _can_ give up, I just don't want to." 

"Do you really believe that?" he asked, searching Charlie's face as if he could some answer - any answer - in his eyes. 

Charlie looked slightly ashamed. "I can. I will," he added, sticking his chin out. "Just not now." 

_Just not now_ ... Again, Trent's words echoed in his mind. Charlie was trying to talk his way out of it, trying to postpone the inevitable. "Not now, not ever. You're an addict, Charlie. A fucking addict." 

"Oh, don't start this again!" Charlie exclaimed, getting up and taking a few steps towards the door. 

"I didn't start anything," protested Rory, standing up. He wasn't going to let Charlie divert him, not tonight. 

"You just want to put me away." 

"That's not true. I just want you off the drugs." 

"You know nothing about what I'm going through!" 

"You're not going through anything, that's the whole fucking point. You're not even trying." 

"I'm still on the methadone, aren't I? It's not my fault I'm still getting withdrawal." 

"But you're still using heroin, you're still buying from dealers." 

"Well I have to get it from somewhere." 

"They're criminals." 

"Oh, that's fucking rich coming from you!" 

"It's not the same." 

"Isn't it? You're a criminal. Your father's a criminal." 

Rory clenched his fists tight at that. "We keep well clear of the drugs and the scum who sell them." 

"And the scum who use them." 

"I didn't say that." 

"But you meant it. You think I'm scum too, don’t you?" 

"No!" 

"You do. You treat me like I'm still your fucking rent-boy half the time." 

"I do not!" 

"You know nothing about heroin. You don't know anything about how I feel. You don't even try to understand." 

"You fucking cunting prick! Don't you give me that! Don't you ever fucking say I don't know about it!" 

"Well you don't." 

"Like fuck I don't!" Rory was blazing angry now, and he wasn't going to pull any more punches. "I've seen more junkies than you ever will. Glasgow has the worst heroin problem in the country - did you know that? I lost two of my friends to overdoses and another one to AIDS. Don't you ever tell me I don't know about heroin!" 

Charlie took a step back at the vehemence in Rory's voice. Rory took a step forward. He'd been patient for far too long and he wasn't going to let Charlie get away from hearing a couple of home-truths. 

"I've seen what happens to them," he continued, his tone getting harsher. "I've seen how people get eaten up by it until there's nothing left - no friends, no job, no life at all except the drug. I hate it, and I'm not going to let it happen to you. You're going to go to that fucking clinic if I have to carry you there myself and you're not coming out until you're clean." 

"I knew it was a mistake to move in with you. You're such a control freak." 

"If you behaved like a responsible adult I wouldn't have to do this, but no, you're a selfish, immature git who can't see any further than the next fix. If I left it up to you, you'd just wallow in that shit until the money ran out. Can you blame me for wanting to take charge?" 

"You're not my father." 

"No, your father just washed his hands of you. At least I'm trying to do something." 

"You're not the one who has to do it." 

"Because you won't do it without me prodding you." 

"We're supposed to be equals. You seem to think that you can make all the decisions and I'll just go along with everything.' 

"Well, someone has to - you just coast along, expecting things to fall into your lap just when you want them." 

"Do not." 

"As far as I can tell, the last time you actually made a decision was when you dropped out of uni - and that was only because you were failing." 

"That's not true!" 

"Isn't it?" 

Charlie looked down for a moment, then muttered, "Moved in with you." 

Rory saw the wistful look that Charlie cast at him from beneath long, dark eyelashes, and he was almost fooled. For a moment he wanted nothing more than to hold Charlie close and murmur reassurances, but reason told him that was just Charlie trying to charm him, trying to wiggle out of going to rehab. Well, it wouldn't work. He hardened his heart against blatant cajolery and said, "Yes, you moved in, and I don’t want you to move out. But I don't want you using drugs either." 

"You want, you want," spat Charlie. "What about what I want?" 

"You want something that will end up killing you. I only want what's best for you." 

"And when did you turn into my fucking parents? I don't need you to look after me! I don't want you controlling me!" 

"Charlie …" 

"Take your fucking hand off my arm!" 

Rory let go, and took a deep breath. He tried again, a little more calmly. "Look, Charlie, I just want to get you fixed." 

"Fixed? _Fixed?!_ I'm not a fucking car! You can't just put me in the garage for a couple of weeks and pick me up as good as new. It doesn't work like that!" 

"I wasn't -" 

"Fuck you! Fuck everything!" Charlie shouted, picking up a glass and throwing it at him. Rory ducked and it shattered on the wall behind him. 

Charlie stormed up the stairs and Rory could hear drawers being pulled out and the wardrobe door slamming. He wondered if he ought to go upstairs or whether he ought to give Charlie a chance to work out his temper. 

He poured himself another glass of whisky while he thought about it, and drank it in one gulp, catching his breath at the burn of it. Then he had another. 

Charlie appeared at the door, a sports bag in his hand. Rory could see bits of clothing sticking out of the bag, and wondered what he was doing. Then Charlie went to the shelf where they kept all their CDs, and pulled out half a dozen that he dropped into the bag. He glared at Rory and turned away. 

"I'm going to go, but not to Yorkshire. I'll stay with friends for a few days, see if anyone needs a bassist. Might even branch out on my own." 

It took a few seconds for the meaning to sink in, then it hit him ... Charlie was leaving. He blinked. He couldn't allow that. Charlie couldn't leave. 

He made a grab for the bag but caught Charlie's arm instead and swung him round. 

"Don't!" spat Charlie. "Don't you fucking touch me, or I'll have you up for assault." 

"You fucking gobshite!" Rory flew at him, pushing him back against the wall and pressing his arm over Charlie's throat. "You want to be fucking assaulted, I'll fucking assault you!" He pressed harder and harder as Charlie struggled for breath. 

"You're a cunt, Charlie Pace. You're nothing but a fucking spoiled brat who can't see past his own fucking problems. Everything you do affects me, affects your family, but you just don't care. As long as Charlie gets what Charlie wants that all you care about. Well get this - you are not the whole world. I'm no' gonnae let to you ruin everything. D'ye hear me? I'm gonnae get ye to that fucking rehab programme if I have to tie you up and carry you in. It's either me or the heroin. Ye cannae have both. D'ye ken that?" 

Charlie arched his body frantically, beating his hands against Rory, against the wall. His eyes were wide open and alarmed, and he was trying to speak, but Rory's arm was cutting off his air. After a few more seconds, his movements slowed and stopped, eyes rolled back, and he became a dead weight. 

Rory released him and simply watched, open-mouthed, as Charlie slumped to the floor. 

What had he done? What the _fuck_ had he done? 

**5.8 Aftermath**

_Friday 27th December 2002 (continued)_

Rory staggered back until he fell into his chair. He felt dazed. He'd never lost his temper like that before … not in years, anyway ... not since he'd beaten the crap out of someone who'd found out Rory was gay and thought it meant weak. He hadn't even been a black belt then, but he'd won the fight, and the jerk hadn't ever bothered him again. He'd been exhilarated after that fight - really good, top of the world, cock of the walk, the Big Man. 

This, though ... this was different. 

The red rage that had overtaken him had faded, and he ran his hands through his hair, keeping his eyes on the carpet, too scared to look up, too scared to face what he might have done. 

He felt sick. 

Something stirred, and Rory almost sobbed with relief as he glanced up and saw Charlie's chest moving. Charlie wasn't dead. He hadn't killed him. Thank Christ for that. 

He was about to heave himself out of the chair and check that Charlie was all right when Charlie groaned, coughed and rolled over onto his side. Their eyes met, and Charlie directed a look of such sheer malevolence at him that Rory was momentarily stunned. His normally-fast reflexes and quickness of mind had deserted him and he simply stared in dumb bewilderment as Charlie got up and left the room. 

Whisky. He needed whisky. 

Oblivious to the thought that he might have had more than enough that night already, he poured himself a large glass and downed it in one. The world was starting to look a bit fluid, a bit unsteady, but he poured another, and was still sitting with that in his hand when Charlie came back in, carrying his guitar. He grabbed the half-packed bag and left, slamming the door behind him. 

Rory just stared at the space where Charlie had been, unable to move. His thoughts were chaotic, and his body seemed strangely distant, as if it wasn't really his anymore. 

His eyes prickled with tears but he blinked them away. He wasn't going to cry over Charlie fucking Pace. He wasn't. 

He cried anyway, sinking down to the floor and sobbing in a way he hadn't done since his mother had died. 

He had no idea how long he sat there, lost in a morass of grief. It could have been ten minutes; it could have been an hour or more. He was brought back to the present by a wave of nausea, and he realised that he'd had far too much fucking whisky. He was never going to make it up the stairs to the bathroom, but he managed to stagger to the kitchen, spewing his guts up into the sink. 

Again, he lost track of time as his body purged itself of everything he had eaten and drunk that evening. It seemed forever until his guts settled and he was able to rinse his mouth without triggering another heave. He flushed the sink with water until the revolting mess was gone, and then leaned against the counter, trying to work out what to do next. 

Slowly, he made his way back to the living room and stared at the mess. Charlie hadn't been exactly careful as he'd pulled out the things he wanted to take with him. CDs and books were scattered over the floor and there were shards of glass by the wall where Charlie had thrown the tumbler at him. 

He stepped carefully over the debris and found the dustpan and brush. Slowly, he swept up the fragments, taking care not to cut himself, and wrapped them up in an old newspaper. As he dropped the bundle in the bin, he wondered if that was the last he'd ever see of his lover. 

Oh, God. It had only been an hour and he missed Charlie so much already. His heart was breaking as he thought about the possibility that Charlie might not come back, that he might have gone forever. 

Charlie was more than just his lover. Charlie was the only man he'd ever fallen in love with. Charlie was the only one who'd ever been able to cut through all of Rory's defences, the only one who'd seen behind the mask he wore every day. Charlie was the only one Rory had ever brought into his home, into his bed, the only one he'd ever wanted to share his life with. 

He didn't care about the band. He didn't care about the fame and the money and the rockstar lifestyle - as far as Rory was concerned, they were distractions he could well do without. When they'd met, in that smoky pub over three years ago, Charlie had been a penniless boy with a passionate heart, and Rory had fallen for him the moment he'd set eyes on him. He wanted Charlie the man, not Charlie the bass-player. He wanted the Charlie whose eyes were dark with lust, not dull with drugs. He wanted the Charlie who let Rory be Rory - not Frankie's son, not the Shark, not the business man, just himself. Just Rory. He felt more himself with Charlie than he ever did on his own. 

Charlie was his other half. He knew this - knew it instinctively, viscerally and absolutely. How could he possibly go on living when half of him was gone? How could his heart keep on beating when it was torn in two? 

How was he ever going to get Charlie back? 

Tears prickled at his eyelids again, and he gave a half-sob before driving his fist through the kitchen door. He watched as blood welled up from the cuts on his hand, and picked off a couple of the larger splinters. Not surprisingly, it hadn't helped. 

He staggered back into the living room and collapsed on the settee, his brain a confused whirl of angry words and whisky fumes. Fuck Charlie and his fucking stupid drugs. He'd just have to deal with it tomorrow. 

~~~~~ 

_Saturday 28th December, 9 am_

Rory knocked on the door and stood waiting for Meg to answer. At least, he hoped it would be Meg - he couldn't face Mike today, and he doubted that Charlie would answer the door himself. 

"Hello, dear," said Meg, with a smile. 

"I want to see him," said Rory, trying to keep his voice calm and reasonable, fighting the urge to push past her into the house. 

"Mike?" 

"Charlie." 

"Charlie's not here." 

"Not here?" he echoed, stupidly. 

"No, I haven't seen him since Sunday. Why? What's happened?" Her tone sharpened suddenly. 

Rory felt sick and disoriented. How could Charlie not be here? He always ran home to his mother. And if Charlie wasn't here, then where the hell could he be? "I ... he ... we had a fight. He left. I hoped he'd be here." 

"No, love, he isn't." Her face showed her deep concern. 

"Fuck. Sorry," he added. "Do you have any idea where he might be, then?" 

"No, not really. Look, you'd better come in and tell me about it. I'll make us a cup of tea." 

"I really need to find him." 

"If he left last night, I doubt another hour will make much difference, and I can't stand here with the door wide open, letting all the heat out. Come in and sit yourself down." 

Rory sighed and followed her in. The last thing he wanted to do was to confess his sins, but if anyone knew where Charlie might have gone it was Meg, and if a cup of tea was the price of getting that information, then it was probably time well-spent. He walked through to the kitchen with her and sat down heavily at the table, not even watching her as she put the kettle on. Mercifully, she didn't say anything further until she'd set two steaming cups of tea on the table. 

"Now, then, love," she said, seating herself and taking a sip, "what exactly happened?" 

"We f-fought. B-Badly." He sipped his tea, grateful for the heat and the sweetness. He'd been running on alcohol and adrenaline for the last twelve hours; it was no wonder he wasn't feeling the best. 

She looked meaningfully at his hand, which still bore the bruises and scratches from when he'd punched the door. "I can see that. Was it about the drugs?" 

"Aye, it was." He took another sip. "He's using again, I told you that. I caught him at it, about a week ago, and since then he hasn't even tried to hide it." He felt again the disgust and nausea at the sight of Charlie, slack-jawed and careless on the bed. "I didn't think you could do that - take methadone and heroin at the same time - but Charlie said that the methadone just wasn't holding him any more." He shrugged. "The counsellor says he's seen it before. Bastard. I think he was almost pleased Charlie failed." 

"Oh, my poor boy." Meg's face fell. "He was doing so well. I know it doesn't always work, but we had to let him try." 

"Aye, I know. But ..." his voice trailed off 

"When did he start up again? 

"A few weeks ago, I think. He said it was his birthday present to himself. Some f-fucking present!" 

"Oh, love, I'm so sorry. Is that what you argued about?" 

Rory nodded. "I know I'm not supposed to be confrontational with him, but he's killing himself with that shit! I cannae let him do that to himself, Meg, I just cannae." 

"So what happened?" 

Rory shrugged; he didn't want to go into the details. "We fought. He ran away." He took another swallow of tea. "I've tried phoning him, but his phone is switched off. I thought ... I thought he'd come here." 

"No, he didn't. I'm sorry." 

"I have to find him. I have to make sure he's all right." 

Meg looked at him, concerned. "Is there any reason he might not be all right? I thought you said you didn't hit him?" 

Rory shuffled a little. "I didn't hit him - not precisely. I tried not to get upset with him, honestly, Meg. But he looked at me with that b-bloody smirk on his f-face like he was jack-the-lad, and I lost my temper." 

"And?" 

"He threw a glass at me, and we f-fought and I p-pinned him against the wall and he ... he ... b-blacked out." He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. "When he came to, he just got up and l-left." 

"Would he have gone to the hospital?" 

Rory shook his head. "I doubt it. I didn't really hurt him, you know. I didn't _want_ to hurt him but I lost my temper and held him down and said all the things I'd been holding back, all the things he needed to hear - how much he's hurting his family, me, himself." He caught himself before he could burst into tears. "I didn't hurt him, I swear. I was just so frustrated with it all - I could see my Charlie slipping away and I couldn't do anything about it." 

"I know, love. It's so hard to stand and watch someone you love hurt themselves." 

"How am I supposed to just stand by and watch him kill himself? How can I live when all I do is wonder if the next time he puts that needle to his arm it's going to be the hit that kills him? How can I do that? I just can't." 

"No one's asking you to do that, love," Meg tried to reassure him, patting his hand gently. "We'll find him a rehab programme." 

Rory gave a bitter laugh. "I found one - a good one, a residential programme in Yorkshire. They had an opening today and it was the only place available before February." 

"How did he take that?" 

"I thought he was all right with it - he went upstairs to pack, and then he came down and said he'd changed his mind, that he wasn't going to go there after all. That's when we fought. Ach," he added in annoyed realisation. "I'm going to have to ring the counsellor and tell him that Charlie's not taking the place. He won't be happy." 

"We can do that later. It's more important that we work out where he might have gone." 

Rory took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. "What do I do if I can't find him Meg? What if ... what if it's already too late?" 

"Oh, love, please don't think about that. It can't be too late. He's only been gone a few hours. We'll find him. We've just got to look in the right places." 

"And what if that place is the morgue?" 

Meg set her cup down with a clatter and glared at him. "Don't, Rory. Don't even think of that." She took a deep breath. "Have you rung Pat? He might have gone there." 

"No I came straight here. I should go home, just in case he comes home. He might go home, don't you think? Or should I try to find his dealer, see if he's been there?" 

"I'll ring Pat for you - I'll make up some story. And Tess, in case he makes it as far as London. You could try finding his dealer, but it won't be easy, I imagine." 

"It won't be easy, but I've got contacts. I'll call in a couple of favours." 

He got up and took his cup over to the sink. He was turning to go when Meg reached out to him. "And let me have a look at that hand before you go." 

"It's nothing," he said, quickly, hiding it behind his back. 

"It's not nothing, now let me see it." 

Reluctantly, he held his hand out, and she examined it closely. "Door?" 

"Aye," he answered. How the hell did she always know? 

She must have read the question on his face, because she smiled, and said, "Mother's magic, dear. And the unmistakable sign of splinters - not all of which have been removed." 

"I'll be fine." 

"Of course you will - once I've taken them out." 

Sighing, he bowed to the inevitable, and left twenty minutes later with his hand daubed in antiseptic and stinging worse than it had the night before. There were times when he thought that Meg took this mothering thing a bit too far, but he didn't want to antagonise her, not now. 

He got into the car and rested his hands on the wheel, trying to force his weary brain to think. 

Who the hell was Charlie getting his heroin from? And where the hell had he gone? And how on Earth was Rory ever going to get him back? 

~~~~~ 

New Year came and went, and Rory still had no idea where Charlie had gone. He hadn't gone to Pat, or Tess, or even Sinjin (and that was a conversation Rory never wanted to have again). He hadn't gone to his cousins in Ireland. He hadn't gone to any of the friends Rory had contacted. He had disappeared, and the only thing that stopped Rory losing it completely was that at least there were no reports of his body having been found. He'd put out some feelers, but his influence wasn't great outside Manchester and Glasgow, and no information had come his way yet. He rang Charlie's mobile several times a day, but always got the same message: _This phone is switched off or out of range._

They all dealt with the disappearance in different ways. Meg, after having telephoned every relative on both sides of the family, had taken to visiting her parish church twice a day and lighting candles. Mike was taciturn and glowered at anyone rash enough to mention any of his children. Rory took his frustrations out on his clients, and anyone who had gained the impression that the Shark was mellowing with age was quickly brought to the realisation that he was as mean, as vicious and as prone to violence as he had ever been. Even Ken was looking at him with new-found respect after having been bawled out at length for letting a client slip through his fingers. 

As the week ended, Rory's initial hopes of finding Charlie faded. Meg wanted to file a missing persons report, but Rory dissuaded her - as he said, Charlie wasn't missing, he had just left, and since he was a legally-competent adult there was very little that they or the police could do about it, except to wait for him to turn up somewhere. 

Oddly, his fears had faded too, to be replaced with anger and a burning resentment. He was furious with Charlie for leaving him, furious that Charlie placed a higher value on his fucking heroin than he did on his lover, the man who had stood by and supported him for three years. It was bad enough that Charlie had put the band before Rory on so many occasions - and Rory still felt the pain of being left behind, even as his reason told him that Charlie had no choice but to go on tour - but there was no way that he was going to let Charlie put his heroin habit ahead of their relationship. He'd told Charlie that it was either him or the heroin, and Charlie had made his choice; he'd chosen heroin and he'd walked out of the flat and out of Rory's life. 

It was Friday evening when Meg rang him, a whole week after the argument. 

"Hello, Rory, dear," she began. "How are you?" 

"No' bad," he answered, frowning. He'd had three whiskies already since getting home and it wasn't even eight o'clock yet. 

"Have you seen the paper?" she asked. "There's a bit about Charlie in it." 

"No. Is he ... is he all right?" 

"I think so - he was picked up for drunk driving on New Year's Eve." She didn't sound happy about it. 

"Was that all?" 

"That's all the paper said. Apparently the police wouldn't let him drive home, they took him to the station." 

"Better than letting him crash the car." 

"Yes, that's what I thought. But I can't believe he'd be drinking and driving - I've always told him it was dangerous." 

"He's an adult, Meg, he's making his own choices now, and they're not good ones." 

"I know," she sighed. "I just wish that there was something I could do." 

"So do I," echoed Rory, dutifully. "Did the paper say where he is?" 

"No, I think it was London, but it doesn't actually say so." 

Rory nodded, though he knew Meg couldn't see him. Of course it would be London, that's where any musician with ambition would go, where anyone who wanted to be hard to find would go. 

"Do you think I ought to go to London?" she asked. 

"No, there's no point. He knows where you are, he knows how to contact you. Chasing him is just going to get his back up." 

She sighed again. "You're right, I know you're right, but it's hard for a mother to let a child go like that." 

"Aye." He didn't trust himself to say any more. At least he could be pretty sure that Charlie would contact his mother sooner or later. That was more than he could say for himself. 

He put the phone down and poured himself another whisky. He was drinking too much, he knew that, but the alternative was staying sober, and he couldn't cope with all the memories that crowded his mind when he was sober. It was better to stay drunk, better to stay numb, than to break down into a sobbing mess every night. 

He looked around the room, at the gaps in the shelves where Charlie had taken his favourite CDs; at the ginger jar where they kept the lube; at Charlie's jumper, still in a crumpled heap beside the settee from when he had stripped off for their last shag. There were so many reminders of Charlie in the flat that they overwhelmed him. 

Suddenly, he made up his mind. Charlie had left him. Charlie had left him for good. This wasn't just a tiff, with a couple of days of sulking and then a glorious reunion. This was it, the end, all over and done with. Charlie wasn't coming back, not now, not ever. 

With a cold, grim anger, he collected all the things that reminded him of Charlie and set them in a pile in the middle of the room. Then he got a couple of large garbage bags and threw them all in, all of Charlie's clothes, his shoes, his CDs, the trashy novels he read, the toiletries from the bathroom, the wok from the kitchen ... everything went into the bags and then was carted down to the communal dumpster. It took four trips and most of the night, but finally Rory looked around his flat and saw no trace of Charlie: nothing that would remind him of the love and the laughter and the mind-blowing sex; nothing that would remind him of that final, dreadful fight that they'd had. 

Charlie was out of his life. 


End file.
